Before Chen Hao had even opened his eyes, a whooshing sound already enveloped his hearing, desolate and lonely.
Then, a gust of wind that seemed to carry both the heat of summer and the chill of winter rushed into his nostrils, immediately filling them with the taste of sand and dust, which was also desolate, lonely.
Without needing to open his eyes, Chen Hao guessed that he was in the midst of a desert—the scroll world sealed by the Spiritual Power of the Ancestor of the Nether King.
"Yuqiao didn't come to stop me, could she really not care about me anymore?" Chen Hao murmured, his face filled with disappointment. With a sigh, he slowly opened his eyes.
As he had thought, he was standing in a desert. The wind slashed at his clothes and long hair; sand caressed his face like the rough kiss of a demon.
"Whoosh! Whoosh!" Successive gusts of wind howled past, merciless and indifferent.