Midnight had arrived, and all was silent.
Moonlight like water streamed over layer upon layer of lofty mountains, dyeing the dense white vapor steaming from the peaks into ribbons of mingled azure and blue. It flowed slowly along the ink-dark ridges before gathering into hazy mist at the bottoms of the valleys.
Every mountain ridge had been plated in the moonlight's cold silver radiance, like a sleeping giant draped in translucent gauze. Even the clear springs seeping from the cracks in the rocks glittered like scattered diamonds.
A miniature flying boat more than thirty meters long skimmed just above the dark forest canopy.
The distance between its hull and the treetops was no more than a few feet. Its pitch-black body carved an almost invisible trail through the ink-colored night sky. Only the eerie-blue crystals embedded along the gunwales occasionally cast off a few flecks of cold light.
Su Fan sat cross-legged at the edge of the deck, both elbows propped against the carved railing, his fingertips unconsciously rubbing the icy balustrade.
The dark-green sea of trees below rose and fell with the airflow like a rumpled carpet. Now and then, phosphorescence startled up from nocturnal beasts, tracing fleeting arcs through the forest.
He gazed at the mountain shadows sweeping past below, but his ears twitched faintly as they caught the fragmented sounds drifting from the cabin.
The flying boat had been traveling through these mountains for several days, and the cultivators' conversations had never ceased.
Although the language of this plane carried a rough, unfamiliar cadence, he patiently studied it as if deciphering an ancient scroll.
In truth, the language of this plane differed from his former language much as Standard Mandarin differed from the various local dialects in his previous life.
Though some parts were awkward to pronounce,