Hundred Floors

Zhou Qiubai fell from the air and landed heavily on solid ground.

That was right. This was real ground now.

And the door had opened.

He propped himself up with White Clothes Sword and stood.

Though his legs were still shaking, his hands were trembling, and almost everything hurt except his third leg.

But he did not look back, much less search for Yang Guyun.

Trust his companion.

Because at that moment, he finally understood the meaning of this final step.

At the same time, the scene before him suddenly blazed with light.

This was the answer to reaching the hundredth floor.

Tang Chen had fallen at the final step because his ability was limited—or rather, because he had felt fear toward a road whose end he could not see—while Qian Daoliu had at least known his own limits.

As for him...

He stood on the hundredth floor of Canghai Tower.

That light was not silver-white, nor pale gold, but a strange color never before seen on the tower.

It was like sunlight passing through the night, like dawn quietly drawing a line across the horizon.

The halo gradually spread, extending along the stone steps on the cliff wall all the way down to the main street of Lower Cliff.

The old man in the teahouse was the first to notice that light.

He had just lifted the new teapot and was about to pour himself a bowl of hot tea when the corner of his eye caught sight of the window. He froze at once.

The teapot hung suspended in the air, scalding tea unknowingly pouring over the back of his hand, yet he did not notice at all.

"The hundredth floor."

Those two words were like a pebble tossed into a still lake, stirring ripples one after another.