The next morning, a thin mist, like a veil of gauze, shrouded the camp in the valley.
When Fang Han emerged from his tent, the sky had yet to fully brighten; only a sliver of pale light showed on the eastern horizon.
By the campfire, a few early-rising Qingxuan Sect disciples were preparing breakfast. Seeing him, they all bowed in greeting.
"Senior Brother Fang."
Fang Han gave a slight nod and sat down by a campfire. He accepted the hot congee and roasted meat a disciple handed him and slowly finished his meal.
The morning breeze, carrying the dampness of the forest, brushed against his cheeks, chasing away the last remnants of sleep.
After breakfast, he rose and walked toward the edge of the camp.
"Is Senior Brother Fang going deeper in today?"
a disciple asked.
Fang Han nodded without saying much.
His steps never faltered, and he soon disappeared into the mist-filled woods.
