The two walked forward along the spatial passage.
After only a few steps, Yang Mei stopped.
The path he had opened with his own hands remained behind them, and the spatial coordinates within the gray mist had not changed. Yet the piece of willow wood guiding their way pointed back toward where they had come from.
Yang Mei did not keep forcing a path open.
No one who had reached their level would mistake pointless recklessness for courage after knowingly stepping into another's Dao.
He withdrew his spatial Dao light and gazed into the depths of the gray mist.
"Fellow Daoist Shichen, old acquaintances have come to visit."
His voice entered the gray mist without stirring the slightest echo.
A moment later, a long river suddenly appeared beneath their feet.
The river flowed without a sound. Neither its source nor its destination could be seen.
Countless fragments of time rose and sank within it. Whenever a wave rolled over, a world was born within it, flourished, and then passed into annihilation.
Yang Mei glanced beneath his feet.
Even with his spatial Dao, he could not determine how wide this river truly was.
The opposite bank, seemingly only a step away, might lie farther off than the entire breadth of the Primordial World.
At the river's end, the gray mist parted to either side.
The Daoist in dark robes still sat upon the chaos stone. He seemed never to have opened his eyes, yet also seemed to have watched them from there for countless ages.
Yang Mei's long brows stirred slightly. He bowed in greeting. "It has been many years, fellow Daoist. You have grown ever more unfathomable."
Shichen opened his eyes.
In Yang Mei's eyes, he was an ancient Daoist with hair as white as frost.
What Luohou saw, however,