The mist was not white, but an extremely thin pale gold, exuding a slight warmth that contrasted sharply with the surrounding cold.
Chen Ping stepped into the icicle forest and immediately felt that the wind around him had weakened a lot.
Those pale golden mist seemed to have the effect of isolating the wind, and the further you went in, the weaker the wind became, and finally disappeared completely.
His steps were getting slower and heavier.
His spiritual power was about to run out, his vision began to blur, and his legs were like lead.
Just when he was about to fall, he suddenly heard a crisp bell.
The bell came from the depths of the icicle forest, melodious and ethereal, like a clear spring in the mountains, and like an ancient Sanskrit song.
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