When the snoring began.
Zheng Qing fell asleep, yet he clearly knew that he had not fallen asleep.
His consciousness left his heavy body, swept up by an icy wind that passed through narrow gaps in the woods and entered the deepest part of the night.
That wind was abnormally cold, as though it had come from the pitch-black reaches of outer space. Zheng Qing felt even his thoughts freezing stiff.
The sensation continued until the sinister wind stopped and he fell to the ground.
The young wizard groaned softly and climbed up from the black lawn.
He raised his head.
Before him stood an enormous black iron gate.
The gate was unimaginably vast, its height and width impossible to determine. It might have stretched for dozens of miles, perhaps hundreds, perhaps thousands. With no clear point of reference, Zheng Qing could only tell that it was immense. Standing before it, the young wizard seemed like a speck of dust.
Many bizarre figures had been cast into the iron gate.
There were gaunt monsters whose bodies were hidden beneath tattered Yellow Robes; wrinkled creatures, black all over, with claws and feelers; and Monks shining with light, their green skin covered in folds, their faces concealed in shadow.
But most numerous were winged flying creatures with jointed limbs and short bristles, as well as reptilian creatures covered in thorny hide and sporting fish fins. Like servants, these two kinds of creatures clustered around the larger figures, making the entire iron gate radiate an air of fervor intertwined with faith.
The young wizard stared at everything on the gate in fascination, completely forgetting his own existence.
Until a figure appeared before him.
It wore a yellow robe, its face hidden behind a soft White Mask. Through the mask, Zheng Qing could see