At that moment, all was still outside Yaochi. Not a sound stirred; even the crows and sparrows were silent. No one could utter a word.
The Human Race struggled to find even a single Saint, while the various tribes of the Primeval Era had entire groups of Ancestor Kings presiding over them. The gulf was simply too vast. There was no way to contend with them.
Bathed in rosy light, their bodies edged in gold, they approached one step at a time. Each looked different: some had human heads and phoenix bodies, others human bodies and qilin heads. Some bore thirty-six pairs of divine wings on their backs, while others looked exactly like humans.
Clearly, they did not belong to the same clan, but they shared one thing in common: they did not believe in the existence of the so-called Haotian Shangdi. They had come expressly to "demand an explanation."
"The Yaochi Grand Gathering is about to begin. The arrival of nine Ancestor Kings lends this assembly tremendous splendor," someone said, offering an indirect compliment.
"Please come inside, honored seniors," a Master of the Human Race said. Though hostility simmered in his heart, he had no choice but to treat them respectfully. Any lapse in hospitality might invite a catastrophe.
Yet the nine Ancient Kings stood outside Yaochi as though they had heard nothing. They paid no attention whatsoever, their faces as cold as icy stone.
"Your arrival will make this gathering all the more magnificent. What a joyous occasion! Please grace Yaochi with your presence," several more Masters of the Human Race said.
Still, they were ignored. The nine Ancient Kings did not even glance at them, much less respond. They treated them as air.
The Masters of the Human Race froze where they stood, still bowed in greeting.