That night, Wang Xian dreamed neither of his master, Old Meng, nor of the four girls hunting him down.
He did not dream of the Impure Body Elder from Hundred Flowers Valley who had tormented him, nor of that traitor, Zhao Hu.
When he opened his eyes and stepped out of the stone house, the sight before him shook him to the core.
It was as if he had seen a ghost. He stood there dazed, unable to utter a word.
It was as though he had crossed through time once more, arriving in an age a thousand years past overnight.
It was like the spring breeze sweeping across the desert. Everything before his eyes was no longer a wasteland of ruins. It was as if he had returned to Phoenix City.
No—everything here seemed even more real than Phoenix City. A faint floral fragrance drifted through the wind.
Just as he was searching everywhere for the woman in blue, Meng Yu, a shout rang out from the wind.
"Come in, young master!"
Wang Xian looked up. Good heavens, he had arrived at the entrance of a tavern. He glanced at its signboard and murmured, "Come and Go?"
In the blink of an eye, a strange feeling came over him.
It was just as Meng Yu had said. He had encountered the divine flower that bloomed once every five hundred years, and in the blink of an eye, he had entered a world of flowers.
Last night, when he had entered the city, this had still been an ancient city buried in yellow sand, a thousand-year-old city that had suddenly appeared in the world—or a dead city?
He had merely slept once, yet it seemed he had crossed through time again and returned to a thousand years ago.
What the