It was not just the sound of a woman sobbing.
There were shouts, curses, and the sound of something being smashed against the ground.
"No, my child! Give me back my child..."
Chen Yan made out exactly what the woman not far away was crying out.
Then Chen Yan turned his gaze into the distance.
The already dilapidated village looked like a field of ruins. Amid those ruins stood a middle-aged man who looked to be in his forties, dressed in coarse cloth. At his waist hung a blunt saber with a badly chipped edge, bound with coarse rope instead of sheathed.
His steps were unsteady, and Chen Yan could easily tell that he had no cultivation whatsoever. He was merely a mortal.
In his hand, he held a small hand that was not particularly clean, but was very slender.
It belonged to a child who looked only seven or eight years old.
As the middle-aged man dragged the child forward, panic filled the child's face. He had even long since forgotten how to cry.
The middle-aged man, who looked to be in his forties, dragged the child toward Chen Yan.
Then, as the middle-aged man pulled the child toward Chen Yan, a woman in ragged clothes came chasing after them.
Her attention remained fixed on the child being dragged along by the man.
The middle-aged man, who looked to be in his forties, ignored the woman the entire time.
Then the woman stumbled up to them and caught hold of the child's clothes.
"Mother..."
The child turned his head woodenly and called out to the woman.
The middle-aged man finally grew tired of her pursuit. He stopped, turned around, and kicked the woman behind him away.
She flew backward, her back slamming hard onto a pile of broken tiles