Zheng Qing stared intently, realizing that what he thought was a dark cloud was actually a swarm of thin-waisted black bees emerging in groups, densely packed, their wingbeats sounding like muffled thunder.
Along with the bees' agitation, the grass on the ground seemed to have received a powerful growth spell, crazily extending their slender leaves like rope loops, like shackles, or like arms reaching from the ground, waving wildly in all directions, dragging down everything they clutched.
Nearby, the Fringe Hunting Team was already in dire straits under the continuous assault.
Just as Xiao Xiao said, whether to leave or to help requires immediate decision-making.
Yet Zheng Qing still hesitated.
