August waned, and the weather began to cool down gradually.
Even at high noon with the blazing sun, the scorching sensation on one's skin had dissipated.
Xuan Du strolled slowly through the woods by the bank of the Huai River, purposely choosing the shades where sunshine couldn't reach.
The rippling river water flowed eastward ceaselessly, and the sky above appeared vast and high, dotted with a few white clouds only in the far distance.
Perhaps due to the lesser heat, the chirping of cicadas also became less frequent.
Up ahead was Linhuan Pass.
Xuan Du walked forward, lifting his eyes to look ahead.
A winding path stretched into the depths of the forest, flanked by farmland on one side and a water channel on the other.
Xuan Du paused, his face showing some hesitation.
Since the day the Great Shang's mystic bird cried sorrowfully and was deprived of its fortune, his master had asked him to travel around.
