Chu Ming's body glowed faintly beneath the radiance of golden light.
His skin was glowing, his bones were glowing, his Dao Fruit was glowing.
All the light was "gold."
No crimson, no darkness, no gray.
Only "gold."
He pushed open the door.
This time, the door moved.
Like a curtain being lifted, it split open down the middle and rolled away to either side.
As it rolled back, the runes upon it flickered.
Like a lamp—when you switched it off, it would flicker once before going dark.
Beyond the door lay such a sight.
A sea of golden light.
No sky, no earth, no boundaries.
Only light.
Golden, pure, like a space filled with sunlight.
Within the sea of light was a path. At its end stood a blurry figure.
That figure was waiting for him.
Chu Ming stepped forward and crossed the threshold.
Behind him, the door slowly closed.
The door changed from something solid into a phantom, from a phantom into transparency, from transparency into nonexistence.
The sea of light spread out before Chu Ming.
That path extended beneath his feet.
The path was made of light.
Golden light, like congealed sunlight, like molten gold.
He walked along the path, every step steady, every footfall firm.
Ahead, the blurry figure grew clearer and clearer.
Chu Ming saw the person's outline.
A tall frame, a crimson-gold Daoist robe, deep gray eyes.
Tianheng Dao Lord.
No, not Tianheng Dao Lord.
It was the "imprint" Tianheng Dao Lord had left behind.
Like writing on a sheet of paper: the words were written in ink, while the paper bore the ink.
Ink was not paper, and paper was not ink.
Yet when you looked at the paper, you saw the words written in ink.
That figure was the "ink," and the sea