In a somewhat dim space, a strange ink-black dome towered overhead, no less than a thousand zhang high. Countless star-track patterns crisscrossed the dome, faint starlight flowing through them as though ten thousand stars were shining.
The light blooming from those star-track patterns barely illuminated the space.
Faintly, it seemed to be an incomparably grand and majestic hall. Jade pillars stood all around, supporting the ink-black dome above, which resembled the night sky.
Dragons and phoenixes were carved into the jade pillars, their lines vigorous and majestic. Yet perhaps due to the erosion of time, the pillars' surfaces were vaguely covered in a thin layer of cold moss, while dark green showed faintly through the cracked corners.
At the head seat in the center of the hall stood a chair covered in golden cloud patterns, true dragons, and Xianhuang motifs.
Magic Artifact fragments were scattered everywhere, along with many other objects strewn chaotically across the ground, emitting a cold, dim glow.
At the front of the hall was a long passageway. Its depths were pitch-black, and gusts of chilling wind swept in along it, producing mournful sounds like the whispers of countless Remnant Souls and ghosts...
"Th-this... where is this?"
In the hall, where there was nothing but the wailing of the cold wind and utter silence, a somewhat hoarse, low voice suddenly rang out.
Before long, a figure slowly sat up.
Ning Wangshu frowned tightly, his face full of suspicion as he surveyed his surroundings. Rising to his feet was exceptionally difficult; it seemed to pull at his injuries, and a wave of searing pain struck him, making his vision go dark as he nearly fainted again.
Fortunately, he managed to hold on in the end. Covering his chest with his right hand, he took several long breaths before