Entering the desert, all that stretched out endlessly was a world of golden hues. The undulating sand dunes interconnected like a stunning painting.
The group journeyed for dozens of miles without encountering any incidents. Everything was smooth sailing.
"I thought they said there were sandstorms in the desert?" After half a day without a response, Wang Cong, feeling bored, blurted out casually.
Just as Wang Cong finished speaking, a low, eerie rumbling sound arose. Moments later, a golden-yellow wall of sand swept toward them from the distance.
"Damn it! If you don't speak, no one will mistake you for a mute." Sun Siwen shot Wang Cong a glare. Walking dozens of kilometers had been uneventful, but as soon as Wang Cong opened his mouth, he seemed to summon a sandstorm. Truly the embodiment of bad luck.
