Zhang Tianji stood frozen in the void, a mere five paces away from Xusheng.
It was still that plain face, that solemn attitude, yet lacking only breath.
That was right, he was a ghost cultivator...
The problem, however, was that it was not just Xusheng. Inside and outside Shuxuan Tower, between the water and the sky, tens of thousands of cultivators were right here, and he still could not hear the slightest trace of human voice.
There was only the sound of wind and water, as if the boundless void possessed its own breathing, drawing in and pushing out, rising and falling, possessing an unimaginable sense of rhythm.
Under this atmosphere, it felt as though a giant that propped up the heavens and earth, formless and substance-less, stood right beside you, watching you in a way you could not comprehend, observing you, and reminding you of its existence.
The contrast between the grand and the minuscule, the contrast between the formed and the formless, the contrast between the knowable and the unknowable, naturally generated a terrifying tension.
Zhang Tianji had to deliberately regulate his own vital breath so as not to be led astray by the rhythm of this "breathing."
He looked again into Xusheng's eyes, only to see a void within, merely reflecting a faint glimmer of light, resembling the boundless, cold, and lonely starry sky beyond the realm.
What the hell...
Zhang Tianji knew that his mind had already been thrown into disarray.
He had already guessed the sole reason for the appearance of this marvelous spectacle, and before deciding to enter the arena, he had never imagined that he would encounter such a situation.
It was not as if Zhang Tianji had never witnessed grand scenes, and he had even communicated face-to-face with mighty figures whose realms