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... piercing through the usual quiet. I freeze, my mind sluggishly processing the unfamiliar noise. Birds? Have I heard that before? I struggle to recall the last time I registered something so simple, so alive.

Slowly, I force my eyes open, the effort exhausting. It's been a week since I first managed to wake up, and every day since then, I've clawed my way back to consciousness, fighting the suffocating weight of weakness. I can keep my eyes open for longer now, and I can even manage a few ...

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Jianghu was in turmoil, an era of great strife. The leader of Great Qin wielded the Mo Blade, leaving the world battered and bruised. The ageless figures of Jianghu crouched upon the mountains, and with a single turn, they cast the entire world below them. Strong men measured the earth with their feet, and heroes of Jianghu could cleave the heavens with one sword, yet in the blink of an eye, they were drunk in the embrace of beauties. The Taoist carried his sword, the Scholar drunk on wine. Wearing tattered clothes, a beggar grasped a rotten branch and dared to storm the ancestral hall of the Taoist Sect. On the willow-lined causeway, in the long pavilion, a man who had sat withered for thirty years turned and stepped out, holding a peach blossom, with a flick of his wrist, he shattered ten miles of red candles. The era of Great Qin was renamed the Great Yuan Era. The youth with the Wooden Sword left his mountain village behind.

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“Don’t touch there, it’s dirty…” Su Yanyun flushes. The man smiles slightly and wipes the mud stains on her feet.

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