The four departed, and Chen Yuan stepped out of the house to see them off. Looking up, he watched as several streaks of light pierced through the murky rain curtain, quickly disappearing, leaving his thoughts somewhat complex.
His earlobes fluttered slightly, and a vast, somewhat sorrowful flute melody, carried by the thinning rain, floated into his ears. He turned his head to look outside the door.
At that time, outside the courtyard, beneath the veil of rain, a spacious practice field appeared cold and desolate.
In one of the military camps.
Some sat cross-legged, constantly refining their vital energy.
Some sat on their bunks, bare-chested, with white bandages wrapped around their chests, holding a long blade in hand, diligently wiping the blade that glistened with a wintry light stained with blood.
