The early winter in Qingfeng Valley resembles an ink painting rendered in cold tones.
The cold wind, like sharp icy shards, whistles through the valley with a fierce force, the "woo woo" sound akin to the wails from the Nine Netherworld, as if attempting to strip away all warmth from the world.
The trees in the valley, like old men in their twilight years, have shed their once lush attire, leaving only bare branches shrinking in the wind. The "creak creak" sound is their helpless lament amid the harsh cold.
The ground is covered with layers of fallen leaves, resembling accumulated sorrows over years, swept up by the wind, dancing wildly in the sky, adding to the desolation and solitude of the valley. Lin Wanqing and Yili stay by Gong Simeng's side, their eyes filled with anxiety, like two flames burning but about to be extinguished.
