The side hall of the Jiang Ancient Clan is like an Ice Palace forgotten by time.
The surrounding stone walls glow with a cold and blue light, as if the chill from deep underground pierces straight into the marrow.
On the towering dome, ancient ice patterns are interwoven, forming ice crystal-like designs that give off a faint glow in the dim candlelight.
Inside the hall, silence reigns, interrupted only by the wind's mournful wail as it passes through the doors, whispering of former splendor and current cold desolation.
Qin Yue stands alone by the window in a plain white dress, her slender silhouette looking especially forlorn in the candlelight.
Her gaze is fixed outside the window, her eyes as clear as autumn water, filled with anxiety and anticipation.
The sky outside is a dreary gray, heavy with dark clouds, seemingly heralding the arrival of a storm.
She softly sighs, lost in thought.
