Hezhou.
Sun and Moon Divine Sect, Heimu Cliff.
A loud eagle's cry pierced the air.
Jiang Dali's robust and towering figure leaped down from the sky, and as he darted obliquely through the air, his muscles and bones emitted a dragon's chant. He slammed onto the ground with a thud and looked toward the buildings nestled in the nearby valley.
Not a breeze stirred in the valley; the small patch of sky was as blue as newly dyed fabric.
The buildings in the valley seemed like adornments on a painting; tranquil and remote, with a poetic flair, as if they were the hermitage of a scholar removed from the Martial World, watching the world's conflicts with detached amusement.
Rustle, rustle, rustle—
An abrupt sound, like the wind whispering through the grass, suddenly came.
Jiang Dali's ears perked up, and he saw a shadow flashed by right before his eyes. In the next moment, it reappeared beside and behind him, half-kneeling on the ground.
"Grass flying? Excellent Qinggong."
