The Witch Tomb emerged, and ten thousand graves rose.
Pei Yonglin's expression was solemn, the aura around him strange beyond measure, stirring the Heaven and Earth Spirit Qi into shifting turmoil.
The wooden hut where he stood abruptly unfolded, and crimson radiance spread with it, stretching across thousands of miles.
Graves of every size emerged one after another.
Some were merely small mounds of earth; some bore wooden tombstones; others were extravagantly lavish, linked together with fine nanmu wood joinery, resembling the side chambers of some wealthy household.
Yet the most eye-catching was the grave behind Pei Yonglin.
It was actually a massive palace cast from bronze. A bronze gate some five zhang tall stood tightly shut, with four bronze sculptures standing on either side.
A snake coiled into a ball, a centipede rearing upright, a toad crouched low with its head thrown back in a skyward roar, and a rat seated cross-legged.
And upon the bronze gate behind them were three glaring crimson words—Witch King Palace!
Chen Yi stopped, watching Pei Yonglin standing before the gate. His gaze swept over the surrounding tombstones as he said:
"Du Cang's head-dropping Secret Art truly pales beside the Mountain Tribe's witchcraft."
With one hand behind his back, Pei Yonglin said coldly, "How could the light of a firefly compare to the brilliance of the bright moon?"
He held the head-dropping Secret Art in utter contempt. Then he fixed his eyes on Chen Yi and asked, "I presume 'Chen Yu' is your alias. Which master of the Wind and Rain Tower are you?"
Wind and Rain Tower? Tower master?
Him?
Chen Yi laughed soundlessly. "I suppose I count as Wind and Rain Tower... Chen Yu."
Pei Yonglin snorted. "This journey to Shuzhou concerns a matter of great importance to my Jizhou Trading Company."