Betting Han Yu's Life

Beyond the Small Cave Heaven, the sea was ablaze, as if rivers were being burned and oceans boiled. Seawater continually bubbled up.

Huge waves rolled without pause, and mist instantly cloaked dozens of miles. Shadowy shapes drifted in and out of view, hazy and indistinct.

"The Central Continent is still as barren as ever!"

A figure took a deep breath, then slowly exhaled a mouthful of stale air. In an instant, the mist dispersed.

The Daoist looked middle-aged, with long black hair hanging down. He had casually tied it into a topknot, and his face was utterly cold, betraying neither joy nor sorrow.

Beside him stood four figures. One had a square face and a tall, slender build, with an imposing air even at rest. He held a pagoda in his hands.

Another wore a smile, his cheeks round, yet there was something unmistakably false about it. He held a jade flute, and a melody seemed to arise around him.

A third had a sinister expression and an aura that kept everyone at arm's length. The air within three feet of him was bone-chillingly cold, yet the folding fan in his hand was its opposite, radiating waves of scorching heat.

The last was the strangest of all. A silver serpent coiled around him, and he was decked out in glittering finery, adorned with all manner of bizarre ornaments. Whenever he moved, the accessories hanging from him jingled.

The five had not expected to feel so uncomfortable the very moment they arrived in the Central Continent. After all, this place was nothing like their small world, where spiritual energy was abundant; even the air here seemed murky.

"It seems traces of those three old fellows still linger here!"

The glittering man flared his nostrils, and actually caught a trace of their