The dying sunset stained the entire horizon with a touch of poignant crimson. The twilight's afterglow gradually dimmed, as if foreshadowing that the impending night would take away all light. Against this backdrop, Qing Ling pressed his lips tightly, his expression dazed, as if his soul were lost. The surrounding Daoists glared angrily, their faces filled with a complex and hard-to-understand mix of fear and anger.
Qing Ling knew full well what fate awaited him after all that had happened today. At the thought of this, he shivered, a nameless dread rising within him. His mind was already blank, unable even to feel the biting chill of the mountain wind, as though his entire being had fallen into a state of utter despair.
