It was a beautiful day in the Royal City. The sun was bright, and the sky was as clear as jade. The forecast predicted a high of 25 degrees Celsius and a low of 11, with a gentle southwesterly breeze. It was truly a fine, clear day, with wonderfully refreshing weather.
A scene of peace and harmony filled the streets and alleys of the Royal City.
People strolled leisurely through the streets,
or haggled busily in the marketplaces.
Laughter and cheerful chatter rose and fell, painting a picture of a tranquil and beautiful life slowly unfolding before one's eyes.
Then, without any warning,
the calm sky suddenly began to roil,
as if stirred wantonly by an invisible, giant hand.
In an instant,
the clouds—once white as snow and soft as cotton—
were torn to shreds by bolts of lightning of varying thickness.
The lightning bolts, like furious silver serpents,
darted madly through the sky. Wherever they passed, the clouds were ripped apart as easily as fragile paper,
