In the pitch-black desert, the heavy night fog surged.
Qin Ming, desperate, unleashed his strongest swing of the blade, accompanied by a brilliant radiance resembling the burning sun, as blood spilled and crystal-clear fingers clearly dropped to the ground.
"Ah..." The woman let out a painful scream, the faint golden radiance around her body became thinner, she quickly retreated, her veil trembling intensely, one could imagine her distress.
Qin Ming, treading on the yellow sand like a gentle breeze, swiftly pursued her, his hand holding a blade as white as jade, swinging at the woman once again.
At this moment, his face was handsome yet extremely stern, his eyes shone like stars, his black hair flying backwards, pushing his movement technique, "Flying on the Grass," to its limit, as if flying over the sand.
