This was a stretch of pitch-black desolate canyon, layers upon layers of treacherous mountains encircling this region. There wasn't the slightest hint of human presence. In such a barren place, one's gaze could sweep for miles and scarcely catch a trace of a human figure; there was only the clammy, chilling wind and that terrifying "woo-woo-woo" howl of the gale.
The yin wind swept over the withered wild grass in the desolate canyon. The grass bent low, and faintly, within the clump of grass, a pitch-black human silhouette was revealed.
The figure's clothes were in tatters, his whole body stained with fresh blood. The breath at the tip of his nose was extremely weak. If not for the faint rise and fall of his chest, anyone would have taken him for a corpse tossed into this canyon.
