Sacred Flame Roaring, My Body Burning

Some people left, but more stayed. They struggled to find a way out of the sandstorm.

Ye Su and Long Qing sat facing each other, like two senior monks commenting on scriptures at tea time, or two masters playing chess. They neither said anything nor looked at each other. Blood was all over and made them seem miserable.

The sandstorm around the stage already ceased. It would stop soon on the stage. The two of them were covered by sand and blood, with their clothes ragged as if they would collapse at any moment.

Long Qing watched Chen Pipi and the rest retreat. Somehow he did not care about them. Many cavalrymen got out of the chaos but did not receive further orders from him. He just sat quietly with Ye Su and waited for the sandstorm to come to a complete end.

The storm was the chilling winter storm, while the grit and sand were from the River and Mountain Sandbox. They roared together as if they would never end. But actually nothing could last forever.