At dusk, the setting sun was like blood, completely dyeing the sky red, with myriad rays of sunset scattering over the vast hills, as if adorning them with a gown of dusk. The scenery was splendid, and the hills were full of rolling slopes, lush with green grass, with no tall trees in sight. Some birds flew in flocks, frolicking, adding a touch of vitality to the expansive hills.
A team trudged stubbornly through the hills, supporting each other, each one exhausted and stumbling, seemingly on the verge of collapse. They wore white coats, soaked through, many torn by some unknown object, looking quite bedraggled. The one leading, although adorned with a deep worry on his face and incredibly fatigued, his gaze was exceptionally resolute, like a sharp sword vigilant to his surroundings—it was Luo Zheng.
