Previous chapter:
Chapter 178 - 165: The Hidden Workshop_2
PREVIEW
... > The acrid smell of burning, the cold air, the sky shrouded in red.
Dead trees, their dry, twisted branches weakly stretching out as if someone had once hung from them.
At the foot of Beichuan Si was pale yellow, loosely clumped, dry cracked soil, and not far ahead lay the burnt remains of puppet-making workshops.
This space around him was devoid of anything, roughly one or two thousand square meters in size, and beyond that, nothing could be seen.
Everything aro ...
YOU MAY ALSO LIKE