In an instant, Wang Xian raised his sword level.
He did not suddenly swing it. Instead, following a mysterious, indescribable arc, he casually slashed toward the sky, toward that upside-down river of stars.
He murmured, "So this is Dreaming Back... to the Starry River?"
In Wuyue's eyes, Wang Xian—
From the sun blazing overhead until the moon rose in the east, he remained like a statue turned entirely to stone. Even the hem of his robe did not stir.
Only in the depths of his once-clear eyes, stars seemed to flow.
A great river surged.
An ancient ship broke through the mist.
A divine pool reflected the sky.
The aura around Wang Xian grew exceedingly strange. At times, he was like a stubborn rock unchanged since time immemorial; at others, he seemed a phantom that could dissolve into the breeze and vanish at any moment.
His consciousness was roaming and comprehending, caught in the crevice between time and space.
Midnight was drawing near, the most subtle moment of transition between yin and yang. The desert, silent until then, suddenly awakened!
"Woo..."
A gale sprang up without warning, sweeping up a sky full of yellow sand and forming a roaring dark storm that stretched from earth to heaven.
With the force to annihilate everything, it came rolling toward the spot where Wang Xian stood!
Before the sandstorm arrived, its destructive pressure had already stilled the space for miles around. Fine grains of sand shot through the air like a rain of arrows, and the earth wailed.
Wuyue's heart sank to the bottom.
It was over.
Against such heavenly might, let alone a cultivator immersed in comprehending the Dao and caught completely unprepared—
Even an existence of a higher realm would find it hard to resist in the sudden onslaught.
She could