The moon shone bright and the stars twinkled. Looking up at the starry sky brought a sense of stillness, a quiet peace of mind.
Meng Chuan was alone on Wuyi Mountain now.
They had stirred up such a storm across the starry sky, and Yaoyao and the others had much to do.
There were the territories left behind by the Heavenly God Race and the Netherworld Race, the remnants lucky enough to escape with their lives, and all the loose ends from Earth's rise to Starry Sky Third in the starry sky.
Yaoyao and the others would be busy for some time.
So Meng Chuan alone remained on Wuyi Mountain, gazing at the stars and composing a peerless signature dish—no, a peerless painting.
The whispers in his ears were growing worse.
They had been faint at first, but now they had become a clamor. He could even make out most of what had once been indistinct.
"Is a Weird Immortal Emperor trying to corrupt me?" Meng Chuan wondered. He had all sorts of theories.
He had investigated the whispers long ago, tracing them through Karma, Heavenly Secrets, and the Great Dao.
The result was clear: he had found nothing. There was no trace of any hidden hand.
It was as though the whispers were duckweed without roots in the truest sense.
As for the harm these ceaseless whispers did to Meng Chuan, it was close to none.
They simply denied him a moment's peace. So far, he had discovered no other concrete harm.
But a lack of harm did not make this a small matter.
How could it possibly be a small matter?
For someone of Meng Chuan's strength to be affected without noticing was unthinkable—more terrifying than the Lesser Netherworld being destroyed on the spot.
And if Meng Chuan