The Azure Heaven Is Dead

When Meng Qi's perception of the outside world returned, he found himself in a dimly lit room, barely six or seven paces from east to west and five or six from north to south. A cloud bed stood against the wall, with a man sitting cross-legged atop it. He had no life left in him; he was a corpse, though a faint trace of his aura remained, revealing a hint of power and ferocity. In life, he must have been at least a Grandmaster.

His hair was casually gathered into a Daoist topknot, more silver than black. Deep wrinkles creased the corners of his eyes and his brow, yet his skin still glistened, unlike that of a corpse. His bearing was mature, his features sharply defined. In his youth, he must have been a rare beauty.

At the sight of him, Meng Qi paused in surprise. The man looked somewhat like him, as if he were an older version of himself.

On closer inspection, however, Meng Qi found they only resembled each other by two or three parts. Similarities like that were common enough in the world.

Relieved that nothing eerie had happened to him, Meng Qi began surveying the room. Apart from the cloud bed, there was only a meditation cushion. The walls were built of blue-green bricks as hard as metal, gleaming with a deep luster. They clearly contained powerful restrictions. The only way out was a stone door directly opposite the cloud bed, which gave off a solid, weighty feeling.

"This must be a quiet chamber for seclusion and healing." Meng Qi nodded slightly. The problem was that he didn't know who the "corpse" was, nor did he understand the situation.

He walked slowly toward the corpse, stirring a faint breeze. As the wind swept past, dust