A Single Sigh, One Thousand Li of Mount Han

The strum of the zither that Zhu Ye heard was naturally no illusion.

Although the sound of this zither came from the distant snowy mountains and was somewhat ethereal, it possessed an undeniably objective existence.

It was cold, clear, and fine, like hair or the edge of a blade, and thus sharp.

The cold winds blowing above the snowy mountains were cut apart, the darkness somewhat illuminated by the lights from Gaoyang Village was also cut apart, and the hardiest of snow lotuses growing in the ice were cut apart.

Several ruptures appeared on Zhu Ye's shoes, and then deepened until they struck his skin, his flesh, and his bones.

His feet were severed at the ankles. Carried along by their remaining inertia, they flew off into the mountains to parts unknown, leaving behind only two trails of blood in the darkness.

Zhu Ye was unable to cross those mountains and return to the human world. He fell onto the snow, gasping, his body continuously heaving up and down.