Dark, vast sky, cosmic expanse.
Wind and snow have become the world's sole existence.
The chill bites.
In a courtyard in the West Suburb of Lingjing City, a certain area lies shattered and dilapidated, with the ground covered in mottled bloodstains, a scene of desolation.
Chen Yang sits at the entrance, holding a token in his hand, scrutinizing it for a long time, devoid of any expression.
Chen Shuai stands quietly beside him, silent.
In truth, he knows he should say something, but his nature leaves him clueless as to what to say, let alone how to offer comfort.
"How long has Yang Hu been gone?"
After a long pause, Chen Yang finally asks.
Chen Shuai glances at the time, "Almost an hour! With Yang Hu's capabilities, coupled with Zhong Yaoyuan's assistance, as long as they're still in Lingjing City, finding a trace shouldn't be difficult."
Chen Yang remains silent.
