The faint shadows thinned and spread, flowing and pouring down, covering the Sha River, shrouding the tower ship, pushing straight toward the distance; at the end of the riverbank, a few bare little hills, with no vegetation to veil them, only sheer granite cliffs left, yellowed and whitened, were no longer dazzling.
In the bitter cold of winter, without sunlight, the chill crept up the limbs.
Clouds!
Magnificent clouds!
Under Heaven, there is but one Immortal, who appears and vanishes like a ghost, traveling with wind and cloud.
Liang Qu understood in his heart and was mentally prepared.
The Yin Yang Crack reopening and the remaking of the Yellow Sand Dragon King—on the surface, these were two grand events; in the dark, there was moreover the Revival of the Grand Ancestor Dali and the Dragon Monarch reincarnating as a Dragon King. With matters so immense, how could heavyweight spectators possibly be absent?
He, however, was not afraid.
