Wang Xian stood motionless amid the wind and snow, the soft rustle of falling snow mingling with the roar of pines in the mountain forests beside his ears.
The cold wind brushed his face, bringing with it the piercing chill of snowcapped peaks in the distance.
He closed his eyes and let his divine sense sink deep into his memories, silently recalling what had happened inside the Soul-Suppressing Tower—the darkness of the ninth level, the strange mysteries of the eighth, and the terrifying being that had tried to devour him.
After a long while, he let out a soft sigh, as though trying to breathe out the weight of those memories, then took a step forward.
The step looked ordinary, yet seemed to tread through the void.
As he took it, a spirit sword suddenly appeared in his right hand—the cheapest sword in Sword City, the spirit sword Like Wind. Though still sheathed, it already gave off a bone-chilling aura.
"Ching—"
The spirit sword slid an inch from its sheath. The blade scraped against the scabbard, ringing out with a clear, long note like a dragon roaring through the heavens or a phoenix calling from Mount Qi.
In an instant, the gloomy, low-hanging sky grew a little brighter.
The thick bank of clouds seemed to split beneath the sword's ringing, opening a narrow crack through which light poured down.
Ye Honglian stiffened, her pupils suddenly contracting.
She had a strange illusion—
Wang Xian had taken only one step forward, yet it seemed as if an infinite distance now separated them.
His figure stood right before her, yet somehow gave her the uncanny sense that he was within reach and worlds away—as though that single step had carried him to a place she could never touch.
A soft gasp escaped her,