"Master Yin, where is Penglai?" Ying Zheng looked at Master Yin with some anxiety.
A flush appeared on Master Yin's gaunt, withered face. "Penglai lies straight ahead!"
With a radiant smile, Master Yin swept both hands forward. The void dozens of miles ahead began to writhe at once. Fine wisps of rosy mist sprang into being from nowhere, sketching out before them a massive, semi-transparent sphere swathed in clouds and haze. The mist whirled rapidly, and an unfathomably profound aura rushed toward them—as though they were witnessing the birth of the cosmos, the destruction of primordial chaos, and all manner of inconceivable phenomena.
What sort of people were Ying Zheng, Wei Yao, and the rest? They had braved death after death, carving out an incomparably vast empire on the Eastern Continent amid storms of blood and gore. They wielded immense authority; at a single command, countless heads would fall. They commanded hundreds of millions of valiant troops, and their every move determined whether corpses would lie for thousands of miles beneath heaven or auspicious vapors would rise.
With their experience, status, breadth of mind, and bearing, the sight of those swirling rosy mists still made their hearts sink. Countless illusions arose before their eyes, and wave after wave of half-understood enlightenment flooded their minds—yet like a spring dream leaving no trace, nothing remained behind.
"Master Yin!" A trickle of blood ran from the corner of Ying Zheng's mouth.
"Your Majesty, this is Penglai!" A gleam flashed through Master Yin's eyes as he said in a low voice, "No, it is not merely Penglai. It is also Fangzhang, Yingzhou, Daiyu, and Yuanjiao! Penglai is not merely Penglai. Penglai is only one of the five divine mountains—only... one-fifth!"
Master Yin clapped his hands lightly and began to sing aloud, his song lofty