Pello walked not too fast, first surveying the basic topography, then heading downwards.
When he reached a common fork, he stopped.
Under normal circumstances, one should head towards the foot of the mountain, but carrying someone like Hang Yishao, he probably had no energy left when reaching this point.
Pello retraced a few steps and noticed signs of collapsed but restabilized bracken to the left of the mountain path. All the dew on top had been trampled off, and some soil stuck to it.
"Can't run anymore?" Pello faintly smiled, removed the safety catch from his gun, and stepped into the mountain ferns about 20 centimeters tall.
In the mountains of Mo City, there were many such ferns, drying up in winter and vigorously growing in spring. These ferns had clearly just started to grow recently.
The soft red tips still had fine hairs, brushing against Pello's trousers, making a rustling sound, like crickets being muted.
