Ye Qin surveyed his surroundings. The gray mist seemed to have grown a little thicker, so dense that it was almost becoming tangible, while the space had expanded outward considerably.
Aside from that, there were no other obvious changes.
To this day, Ye Qin still could not figure out what these gray, mist-like things were. Perhaps his realm was not high enough, and he was therefore still unable to see through them.
"I never expected that, with my lifespan nearing its end, I would be able to enter this transcendent state of meditation again."
Before this, Ye Qin had wanted to enter it many times, but he had never been able to grasp the trick.
This transcendent meditation was simply too profound, as though it contained the ultimate truths of Heaven and Earth—unfathomable and impossible to penetrate. Aside from succeeding the first two times, it had never appeared again.
This made Ye Qin empathize deeply with the ancient sages. They, too, had once sought in vain for their entire lives, just as he had. Such an obsession was truly difficult to bear.
Yet now, at the juncture between life and death, fate had once again allowed him to experience such an opportunity. One had to admit that destiny was truly humorous.
Stepping into this profound state once more, Ye Qin felt as though things had changed while the people remained the same.
At this thought, Ye Qin inexplicably found it somewhat amusing.
"I was reborn here, and in the end, I will walk toward death here. That is not a bad final resting place. Seen this way, my journey will have both a beginning and an end."
As he said this, he suddenly froze in place.
What was life?
What was death?
Was death truly the end?
Could death be