334 Snakeball Dragon Blood Congee

Nights in the Hundred Thousand Mountains were immeasurably dead. As one walked along its mountainous roads, a certain sense of chilliness, carried along by the mountain breeze, would bombard the body, ever more so as one continued down this rocky path.

With just one foot into this gigantic mountain range, the atmosphere changed drastically.

That narrow mountain path, strewn full of leaves, seemed to reek of a rather unique stench; sour, almost reminiscent of wine brewing with its signature mellow and thick aroma.

Amidst the deafening silence, the soft cries of the insects became that much more moving as the symphony of bzzz and brrrs harmonized together into a song.

Crunch Crunch.

As Bu Fang stepped on the fallen leaves, they caved in, ever so softly like a layer soft cotton, a sensation one would not expect at all from such harsh terrain.