At this moment, Qingfeng Valley in the northwest is immersed in the unique atmosphere of early winter.
The weather carries a thin thread of chill, like countless fine ice needles gently piercing the skin. A faint mist hangs in the air, like a gentle yet mysterious veil, softly enveloping the entire valley.
The trees within the valley, their leaves already tinted by the essence of autumn, interweave in shades of gold and fiery red. Occasionally, a few leaves break free from the branches, drifting leisurely with the breeze, akin to golden butterflies gracefully dancing in the air, or like poetic letters sent from autumn.
Mountains in the distance loom in and out of the mist, resembling fairies draped in white muslin, serenely aloof, making one feel transported to an Immortal Realm, inspiring a longing within the heart.
The creek in Qingfeng Valley babbles, with water as clear as the purest crystal, revealing the rounded pebbles at the bottom with a single glance.
