On the forest path outside Mo City, the afterglow of the setting sun was like crumpled gold leaf, filtering through layer upon layer of gaps in the leaves and scattering mottled light and shadow across the ground carpeted with fallen leaves. Some of those leaves were caramel-colored, their edges curled, carrying the bleakness of late autumn; others still retained a trace of green, yet had already lost their vitality. When the wind blew, they swirled into the air, stretching the figures of Xiao Yan, Hai Bodong, and Qing Lin into thin, elongated shadows. Their wavering silhouettes intertwined across the ground, as though telling of the exhaustion of the journey and the thoughts buried deep in their hearts.
Xiao Yan walked in the middle, his fingers unconsciously rubbing the ancient Storage Ring at his waist—the ring's surface was carved with fine, mysterious patterns and forged from rare black ironstone. It felt cool to the touch, yet it had become slightly hot from his tight grip. His brows remained faintly furrowed, his jaw clenched tight, and even his footsteps carried an unconscious heaviness. Clearly, something weighed on his heart like a massive boulder, making it impossible for him to let go. Beside him, Hai Bodong walked steadily. His silver-white hair gleamed softly beneath the sunset, though it carried a hint of the weariness of time. From time to time, he looked toward the lights beginning to glow in the direction of Mo City, his eyes holding the calm of one who had weathered countless worldly affairs, as though he were pondering something. Qing Lin quietly followed at the rear, dressed in a pale green skirt. Its hem brushed over the fallen leaves with a soft rustling sound, like a whisper. In her arms, she held the palm-sized Purple Gold Winged Lion King.