The dark clouds were churning, by dusk, the ink-black clouds were almost pressing down to the ground.
A storm was brewing.
The big streets were devoid of human figures, it seemed as if the vast Heavenly Emperor City had fallen into an eerie silence, all noises had disappeared.
An indescribable sense of oppression, swooping down from the dark horizon to the earth, seemed to cast a layer of grim mist, shrouding the land in an instant.
In Xiao Chen's residence, Hai Yuntian and Zhuge Fatty hurriedly said goodbye, their faces not looking too good. They cautioned Xiao Chen not to go out during the stormy night.
When asked why, the two couldn't explain clearly. They said that it was a tradition passed down by the elders of the Heavenly Emperor City that every year there would be one or two special storms where all people, whether ordinary citizens or powerful cultivators, would be better off not going out to avoid any fright.
