April showers dissipate, clarity graces the southern hills from my door. No more willow catkins rise with the wind, only sunflowers lean towards the light.
In early summer, when the crabapple blooms fade, willow catkins have all but flown.
The sweltering weather brings exhaustion, the days stretching ever so long.
Zhao Rong sat cross-legged outside the Sword Repository Pavilion, his mood not the brightest.
"Since the turn of the year, the Demon Cult's forces have grown rampant, aggressively rallying gangs, expanding their influence. The bandits around Hengzhou Prefecture likely came from the regions of Anqing Prefecture and Ningguo Prefecture."
Quan Ziju's face burned with anger, "Even the smaller sects that rely on us are threatened by the Demon Cult."
"These are merely fringe forces, now brazen as wolves in sheep's skin, each one more audacious than the last."
