A month later, Fang Qingyuan found himself in the eighth tribal encampment, gazing at the howling black sandstorm outside, lost in thought.
The Qianyang Trading Team had traveled this far, only to have their path blocked by a sudden Black Sand Magnetic Storm.
In the Desert of Death, the Black Sand Magnetic Storms raged ceaselessly year-round. Sometimes the winds were weaker, allowing people and their beasts to press forward. But when the winds were strong, they had no choice but to find shelter.
In the face of such a cataclysmic force of nature, even Qi Refining Cultivators were no different from mortals; they could only sigh in dismay. 'To travel by forcing one's way through the storm... perhaps only a Golden Core Cultivator or someone stronger could manage it.'
Fang Qingyuan had been stopped here for over ten days. In other words, he was trapped.
