At the tail end of August, the heatwave showed no signs of abating.
The scorching sun blazed down, turning the ground into a steamer, and the air was hot and stifling, making even taking a breath feel challenging.
On the training grounds, warriors were sweating like rain, engaged in the study of military boxing.
The movements were too simple for Mo Shangjun, so she took a little lazy detour to the supermarket, bought a bottle of chilled drink and an ice cream, and sat in the shade to watch them train.
On the training grounds, people were sweating through their shirts, miserably toiling away; under the shade of the trees, Mo Shangjun was calm and composed, leisurely and carefree.
At first glance, there was a stark contrast, distinctly different states between them.
And—
