The Qingming Festival is often accompanied by rain.
But tonight, there's no rain, and the deep night sky is devoid of stars.
Jiang Dali walks under such a sky, his tiger-skin cloak fluttering in the wind, and his slightly grown hair, stiff as steel needles, remains motionless.
The Dragon Slayer Broken Blade on his back remains equally motionless.
Only his massive and sturdy body continues to move.
He seems to be filled with astonishing strength and firepower at every moment.
Even when sitting, he's like a volcano on the verge of eruption, exuding a strong sense of danger and surging power—let alone now, as he stands like a victorious general rushing to the battlefield.
Wang Yuyan and Murong Qingqing, walking by his side, don't seem like they're heading for battle, but rather to watch a play, even jesting light-heartedly.
The strong sense of safety.
