The gate rose a thousand zhang high.
Ancient and intricate frost divine patterns were carved across it, as though sealing away some extremely cold era.
Lu Chen did not knock.
He merely watched it calmly.
"Creak—squeal—"
The heavy Mystic Ice Great Gate, weighty enough to crush the stars, seemed to be pushed open by an invisible hand. It let out a teeth-grating groan as it slowly opened inward.
Beyond the gate lay endless dusky blue and bone-deep cold.
And a gaze that seemed to have slept for countless ages.
Deep within the palace.
Above the Mystic Ice throne.
An old man with white hair trailing to the ground and a withered face slowly opened his eyes.
His eyes did not resemble those of a living person.
They were more like two Star Cores frozen beneath the ice for countless years—cold, deathly still, and yet containing destructive power.
"He's here..."
A hoarse voice rang out, like two chunks of ice rubbing together.
Echoes rolled through the palace's four walls, condensing into countless icicles.
Ice Soul Ancestor's gaze seemed to pierce through the palace and see the Green Robe Figure outside the gate.
"Saint Peak..."
He murmured, his withered face devoid of expression.
"The strength of his foundation, the surging vigor of his blood and qi, the seamless harmony of his laws... I have seen none like him in my life."
"No wonder he could draw the pursuit of dozens of Primordial Realm experts who crossed realms to hunt him, and still slaughter them all in return."
Nothing could be heard of joy or anger in his voice.
Only an indifference like ice sealed for all eternity.
"Still... what an unruly little fellow."
"In the end, he still found his way here."
The instant his words fell.
The palace's Great Gate