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"...Cicada molting?"
Accompanied by a sharp cry that pierced the sky, Long Po's figure disappeared on the spot. Zhu Qingyue, as if sensing something, turned around and looked toward the cave entrance.
In the distance, dark clouds loomed at the edge of the sky. Wings en masse and bloated bodies moved like a plague of locusts, weaving through the skyscrapers of the city.
Before the storm arrived, the dark, murky clouds in the sky would gather, often obscuring the daylit world, casting patches of shadows on streets and houses, just like the scene unfolding now.
Zhu Qingyue came to the edge of the cave entrance. The wind at high altitude grew stronger, vigorously blowing her dress and hair.
It seemed to carry cold droplets. The girl raised her hand to touch her cheek, feeling a slight wetness on the tips of her fingers.
It really seemed like it was going to rain.
Zhu Qingyue shook her fingers nonchalantly while surveying the distance.
One head, two heads, three heads...
