He did not hesitate in the slightest.
The fewer people dared venture somewhere, the fewer factions would contest it, and the better suited it was to a lone cultivator like him, advancing steadily on solid ground. At dawn the next morning, Lin Feng stepped out of the inn, tore open the void, and became a streak of pale azure light, speeding toward the Mist-Hidden Starfield.
He crossed the starry reaches of the Myriad Worlds Sea, avoided violent spatial storms, and skirted the lairs of ancient ferocious beasts entrenched among the stars. Stars rushed backward at his sides, while nebulae flowed past like painted scrolls. He flew for nearly twenty days.
The farther southeast he traveled, the dimmer the light became, as though even the most brilliant starlight in the Myriad Worlds Sea had been swallowed by an invisible barrier. His field of vision steadily narrowed, distant nebulae blurred, and faint gray-white mist spread through the void. A stagnant, oppressive weight settled into the air.
At last, the boundary of the Mist-Hidden Starfield appeared before him.
It was a starfield completely shrouded in dense gray-white mist. The mist seemed almost tangible, rolling and surging with an ancient, uncanny aura. The moment Lin Feng entered, he felt his spiritual thought abruptly contract—his detection range, which could originally cover a thousand li, was suppressed to less than a hundred zhang. It was as though his eyes had been blindfolded and his ears plugged, leaving only a confused expanse of gray-white around him.
He dared not grow complacent and immediately slowed down. Chaos qi gently issued from his body, forming a thin barrier to protect his divine soul. Relying solely on his eyes and limited spiritual thought, he felt his way laboriously through the mist. The mist was sticky, slowly corroding his spiritual thought