The mountains gleamed, the waters sparkled, and the woods and ravines lay cold and hushed.
Cong Huaijin walked along the mountain path, looking up now and then.
Although nearly half a month had passed since her martial uncle's Purple Mansion Dharma Assembly, she still could not help marveling at the uncanny craftsmanship of Purple Mansion Divine Powers.
Zhouhui Valley was no longer merely a valley. After two True Persons had worked to reshape it in succession, it had become a newly established blessed land among the Immortal Peaks.
Leaving aside the Cold Creek winding around it and the peach groves stretching for a hundred li, the lofty peak alone, crowned with lingering wisps of cloud, lost nothing beside the sect's other peaks.
Looking up, she saw that its sun-facing slope was somewhat craggy. Several hanging pines had struggled out of the cracks, their roots gripping the marrow of the stone while their needles stretched toward the summit.
All of this had taken shape in mere moments. They had practically watched it rise from the ground, and everyone delighted in talking about it.
Though it had not been formally named, many disciples privately called it Zhouhui Peak.
Dressed in a slender skirt, Cong Huaijin carried a gold-bound ledger in her arms and walked with light steps.
After days of tallying, all the congratulatory gifts from the various households had been placed in storage. Only a few loose ends remained for her to report to her martial uncle.
This pleased her. Her martial uncle was a Purple Mansion cultivator now, after all, and she could no longer ask to see him as often as before.
She had a small, private motive. She had painstakingly put the accounts in order without asking anyone for help, simply to find an excuse to see him