The light in the forest was exceedingly dim. Looking up, one could see countless ancient, withered branches intertwined, forming a natural dome that blocked most of the sunlight. The tree trunks were staggeringly thick, requiring at least four or five adults to link hands around them. The bark, etched with the marks of time, was overgrown with moss and lichens, adding to the ancient, time-worn atmosphere.
Above, the canopy was so dense with branches and leaves that it completely obscured the sky. Only a few weak beams of light managed to penetrate the gaps, casting mottled shadows on the ground below. A thick layer of moss covered the forest floor. Each of Fang Zhou's footsteps produced a muffled sound, as if he were walking on a giant sponge. Scattered among the moss were various strangely shaped fungi and vines, which exuded a faint, peculiar aroma that added a mysterious aura to the forest.
