Several days later, Yang Xiao and his party arrived in Baisha Commandery.
It felt as though they had entered another land. Both sides of the main road had long since become a desert landscape.
The air was utterly dry, perpetually thick with fine yellow sand that settled on their shoulders and slipped down their collars. Every breath left their mouths full of grit.
Yang Xiao frowned slightly, finding the climate distinctly uncomfortable.
Seeing his expression, the messenger looked rather apologetic. "Lord Yang, the wind and sand in Baisha Commandery weren't this bad before. They've only worsened recently."
Only worsened recently?
Yang Xiao seemed to have caught a crucial piece of information, but he still knew too little to draw any conclusions.
The closer they drew to the commandery seat, the heavier the blowing sand became.
Baisha Commandery's city walls were visible from far away, dull gray structures that looked as though they had grown out of the sand.
Only when they drew closer could they see how badly the walls had eroded. Honeycomb-like holes riddled their surfaces, and sand packed every crevice.
Yang Xiao dismounted and gently pressed a hand against the wall. His fingertips sank half an inch into it. With a light pinch, a piece broke off the supposedly solid wall, showering loose earth and sand onto the ground like crumbling bean curd.
He withdrew his hand, a layer of yellow sand clinging to his fingertips.
The windblown sand had eroded these walls to their limit. They likely could not withstand even a single charge from a minor demon in the qi gathering realm.
A group was already waiting at the city gate.
At their head stood a lean, middle-aged man with exhaustion written all over his face. His lips were cracked and peeling, and yellow sand clung