The path at the bottom of the gorge is even more difficult to navigate, full of gravel beds that hurt one's feet. A stream of moderate width meanders out from the depths of the valley, its waters murmuring.
Looking up, the cliff walls on both sides tower into the clouds, slicing the sky into a narrow line.
The group's location feels like a crevice forcibly cut out from the mountains by an axe.
The surroundings are extraordinarily quiet, apart from the sound of flowing water, hardly any other noises can be heard; not even the chirping of insects or birds.
Hua Weiguo scrutinized both ends of the gorge and asked the guide, "Elderly local, have you ever heard if there's anything special about this gorge, or any legends related to it?"
The guide shook his head and hung the canteen back on his waist, "There's nothing special about this place, we hardly ever come here. It often floods here, so there's no time to outrun when it happens."
