In a grayish-white world, twisted black figures staggered forward.
They had no fixed forms. Some looked much like humans, with vague facial features; some were nothing more than pools of black ink, slowly surging across the ground.
Their sizes varied greatly as well.
The largest resembled buildings hundreds of meters tall, with shifting, twisted black wings growing from their backs as they slowly advanced.
The smallest were only half the height of a human, but relatively speaking, they were more solid.
Amid this nightmare-like scene, Yao Huichen and the others were resting.
Yet their figures seemed shrouded in a faint mist, blurred and hazy. Twisted silhouettes even passed straight through their bodies.
Two worlds of different dimensions intersected at this moment.
But that was all. Neither the elders of Medicine Valley nor Yao Huichen, at the peak of the Venerable realm, sensed the slightest anomaly.
They discussed something, yet not a single sound came from their mouths.
The entire scene resembled an artwork steeped in postmodern abstract absurdity.
Not far away.
A faint murmur, like sleep talking, echoed through the air.
"Can they see?"
"They cannot see."
"Can they see?"
"They cannot see..."
Yao Huichen looked at the clear, distant sky. A few white clouds drifted lazily by, the sunlight was gentle, and the breeze was soft—it was perfect weather for a trip.
For some reason, this scene within the ruins always gave him a feeling that it was not quite real.
It seemed that everything was simply too wonderful.
So wonderful that it resembled an illusory dream. Once stirred by the outside world, that dream would be like a fragile soap bubble—
"Pop."
Quietly shattering.
For no reason at all, a hint of regret rose in Yao Huichen's heart. Perhaps he should have made more preparations?
But no matter