Opera hall.
Light and shadow permeated the air, reality and illusion intertwining.
Every audience member had forgotten that they were watching an opera. It was as though they had already entered the opera itself, becoming a soldier on the battlefield.
The biting wind scraped across their faces like knives, bringing waves of stinging pain. The pungent stench of blood mixed with mud was clear in their nostrils.
Their bodies were unbearably tired. They wanted only to lie down and quietly fall asleep.
The bonfire crackled, scattering tiny sparks. Its crimson glow brought a trace of insignificant warmth.
Someone trembled as they took dry rations from their arms. They had long been soaked through with blood and stained a strange purplish-black, yet they merely stuffed them into their mouths and chewed slowly.
A few stars flickered in the deep-blue sky, while the distant horizon was dyed with a crimson radiance.
Dawn was near, yet it had not arrived.
Fu Qing silently wrapped the wound on her arm with bandages, then rose with the support of her longsword. A thin layer of dew had already gathered upon her grim, icy armor.
The soldiers gradually gathered. Everyone remained silent, and only the soft rustle of footsteps seemed especially distinct before the still dawn.
The towering Imperial Capital stood quietly ahead, its soaring spires pointing toward the heavens.
Two Bright Moons hung in the night sky, glowing with an eerie pallor.
They were abnormally large, so large that the wood-like grain covering their surfaces could be seen clearly.
Suddenly, the earth began to tremble faintly.
The abrupt change caused everyone's expressions to shift slightly. They had no idea what was happening.
Fu Qing took a deep breath and stared solemnly at the Imperial Capital ahead. She tightened her grip on her weapon as invisible