While Bibi Dong yearned for revenge, Ning Xiaochun on the other side had not been idle either.
His consciousness was swept up like a fallen leaf in a gale, piercing through layer upon layer of spatial barriers.
A piercing buzz rang in his ears, while before his eyes, scenes of interwoven light and shadow twisted past—sunlight, wind and snow, mountains, oceans. Every sight belonging to the Douluo Continent flashed by in an instant, as if someone were flipping through an album with the world itself as its pages.
Then all the light and shadow suddenly drew tight, becoming a needle-thin ray that pierced the last patch of darkness. Light flooded into his eyes.
Ning Xiaochun steadied himself and opened his eyes. A grand, ancient temple stood before him.
The ground beneath his feet was a massive yin-yang diagram paved from black and white stone slabs, one half pure white and the other pitch-black, divided by a gentle curve. The two semicircles rotated at an extremely slow pace, like the beating heart of the entire temple.
He stood at the center of the diagram. The space around him was vast and solemn, permeated by an indescribable aura, like tides condensed from eternal ages, spreading outward with a weight that inspired awe.
His gaze fell upon the two sides.
To the left stood a great hall, its entire body gleaming white, soft radiance flowing across its surface. It was like a massive piece of white jade bathed in the warm sunlight of the heavens, its edges plated with a faint golden halo.
Its doors stood open, yet he could not see what lay within. He could only feel a warm current of air slowly flowing out, reminding him of river valleys in early spring and a mother's gaze.
The great hall