Crack.
Combat boots stepped on the damp, rotten layer of fallen leaves, squeezing out sticky brown juice.
The primeval Old Lin deep in West Mountain had already been completely swallowed by darkness.
The grayish-white thick fog seemed like a living creature, breeding along the uneven ground, climbing all the way up the twisted tree roots, layer after layer wrapping the surrounding canopy.
Roughly a hundred meters ahead, the faint noise of a large group of examinees shoving and running drifted over, occasionally mixed with a few off-key exclamations.
Behind them, however, three people had deliberately slowed their pace, seemingly not interested in fighting for rankings.
Fang Cheng had both hands in the pockets of his training uniform, walking with steady steps, neither fast nor slow.
He lifted his eyes, swept a glance at the rolling fog ahead, turned his head and said:
"Just maintain this distance. I said it before we set out, don't get greedy for quick gains."
