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Flap, flap.
A bird leapt from a slanted branch, flapping its wings vigorously, flying away without looking back.
This was a nameless verdant mountain, especially silent amid the biting cold wind.
No animal made a sound, yet the murmur of flowing water was faintly audible.
It should not be far from the vast, eight-hundred-li-long Qing River.
On a slope amidst the overgrown weeds, a figure lay curled up, motionless.
This was a youth who had lost consciousness, his face frozen in an expression of agony.
Curled up like an infant, without any protection. Yet, even in such an insensible comatose state, his muscles were still taut as if he were battling in his sleep. His left hand held a partially formed Seal Technique, and his right hand gripped a longsword tightly, as if sculpted in stone.
