They had been trudging through the dense fog for an unknown length of time.
All around was always that same chaotic, boundless gray-white.
Li Yan stopped walking, his chest rising and falling slightly, not from exhaustion.
The Yin God body did not tire like flesh and blood, but was weighed down by a kind of eerie helplessness that seeped into the bones.
The sight before his eyes, from afar, was clearly the very image of myth and legend: the Fusang Giant Tree, towering like mountains, loomed hazily; the Ruo Wood was crimson like fire; the Xun Wood soared into the clouds; the Jianmu pierced through heaven and earth…
Yet when he drew close, he could touch nothing at all.
No substance, no texture, not even a way to distinguish the direction in which the shadows fell.
The light seemed to shine from all angles at once, gentle yet without aim, and it was as if this space had no light source at all, that every scene was itself emitting a faint glow.
