Shi Feiyang sat alone in the tent, surrounded by silence, with only a faint light seeping in through the flap, like a gentle carving knife, meticulously outlining the interplay of light and shadow on his face, clearly reflecting his tightly furrowed brows and the somber look in his eyes.
His gaze was deep and complex, as if hiding endless thoughts, much like a deep, unfathomable pool.
Outside the tent, the valley's fierce wind roared like a pack of wild beasts, violently whipping the tent fabric with a deafening "crack," as if it might tear the small tent to shreds in an instant.
His fingers unconsciously tapped the tabletop, creating a rhythmic "tap tap," intertwined with the howling wind, creating an increasingly oppressive and stifling atmosphere in the cramped space, as if the air had solidified.
His gaze seemed magnetically drawn, fixated on the flickering flame fluttering in the breeze.
