The spring afternoon sun was warm.
The mountain forest was silent, with only a few crisp bird calls occasionally breaking the tranquility.
Fang Cheng walked alone through the mountains with a slightly worn blue shoulder bag.
Sunlight filtered through the lush leaves, casting dappled shadows on the ground covered with fallen leaves.
As the breeze blew, the shadows gently swayed like rippling water, and the leaves rustled softly.
Beneath his feet was a rarely-trodden yellow mud path, winding its way towards the mountaintop.
This area was already quite close to the West Mountain, or strictly speaking, part of its remaining ridge.
Though the terrain wasn't particularly treacherous, it was relatively high.
Its remote location made the forest grow especially thick and verdant.
Apart from a few outdoor enthusiasts, few people ventured here.
As he ascended, the woods gradually thinned, and the view suddenly opened up.
