The wind over the training grounds seemed, in that moment, to be drained dry by some invisible force.
The dying sun hung like shattered rubies, carving the black-gold stone platform into a chessboard of eerie light and shadow. Li An stood at the edge where shadows crossed, his black-gold robes rippling with a dull luster in the fading light. The crimson practice snake coiled at his waist occasionally twisted restlessly, its scales producing a faint scraping sound that echoed with peculiar sharpness across the deathly silent arena.
Zhou Yuan could hear the pounding of blood vessels at his temples—*thump, thump, thump*—heavy as if striking an ancient, broken bell.
"Calm down, Zhou Yuan. You must seize this opportunity." He roared inwardly, nails digging deep into the soft flesh of his palms, using that piercing pain to reclaim control of his body.
