After the Great Dao Died

Chen Lingxi narrowed his eyes and continued forward.

At some point, the sky had grown overcast, and it began to rain again.

Spring rain in the third month was supposed to be gentle—a fine mist that barely dampened the apricot blossoms. Today's downpour, however, was as biting as midwinter snowmelt.

The pedestrians on the street gradually thinned out.

Chen Lingxi mingled with a sparse stream of people leaving the city, heading steadily toward the north gate.

He did not have to walk far to reach his destination.

It was a vast, empty execution ground.

It sat in a depression ringed by bare dirt slopes on three sides, leaving only a single official road leading north.

Nothing grew here. Not even a single stalk of common foxtail grass could be found in the barren dirt.