A kite floated in the sky.
In some remote cranny, Wang Po wiped the muddy water from his face and squinted at the small mountain. He had naturally recognized that kite as belonging to Xiao Zhang.
Wasn't that kite dashed to pieces on the walls of Xuelao City several days ago?
In the past, a person had been tied to that kite, but today, it was a painting.
This painting was massive, ten-some zhang in both length and width. It swayed in the wind like a wave of wheat, but the scenes on the canvas remained strikingly clear and unaffected.
Upon seeing this painting, Divine General Fei Dian, who had just been saved by a Cinnabar Pill, focused his dazed eyes into sharp points.
Three elders in a supply convoy on the southern plains also squinted their eyes, their minds overcome with nostalgia.
Atop the walls of Xuelao City, in the shadow of a tower, Black Robe hid her hands in her sleeve as a jeering smile floated on her lips.
They could all see what was depicted in this painting.
