Divine Flower, Weak Water, Netherworld

"Wuwu!" The wind whined.

Wang Xian's world was a blur of chaos. For a moment, he had no idea where he was, much less what world he was in.

Quietly, when he opened his eyes, a faint fragrance lingered beneath his nose.

That delicate fragrance was special, like dew condensed from moonlight, or the clear, crisp chill of melting ice and snow.

He blinked and discovered that he was lying in a familiar garden.

Looking up at the flowers, he saw the long-lost Flower of the Other Shore.

Once upon a time, he had visited this garden again and again. This was his third time.

Propping himself up with his arms, he sat up. His fingertips brushed against a cold flower stem.

The soil here was deep purple, carrying a damp chill.

Looking down, he realized that this was probably the first time he had carefully examined the soil of this garden.

He discovered that the soil was also threaded with dark-golden patterns. They flickered in and out of sight beneath the dim light, like a flowing river of stars.

The murmuring of water drifted from afar. Following the sound, he saw a river shimmering with silver light.

Weak Water—the legendary divine river in which not even a feather could float. A faint mist drifted across its surface, and through the hazy fog, he could vaguely make out the outline of a towering palace.

What the hell? Am I dead, or did I pass through a black hole and end up back in the garden beneath the Nine Hells?

Where was Dragon Valley?

Where was Xiaobai?

Where was Ao Qianyu? And even that old man Ao Heng, who had suddenly returned from Spirit Mountain?

Suddenly, Wang Xian's heart began to race. It was as if a figure stood beside Weak