Mingxi had no mountains, only a stretch of low hills. A strange kind of stunted plant covered those hills—its branches were numerous, its color ash-black, and it bore scarcely any leaves.
The hills themselves were a scorched yellow, reflecting the gray-yellow sky and stirring an inexplicable oppression in one's heart.
Countless hurricanes formed into pillars, standing straight throughout Mingxi; the closer they were to the center, the more incomparably massive they became. Around Mingxi, wind pillars several zhang thick encircled it completely. At Mingxi's entrance, there was a gap more than ten zhang wide between two wind pillars, as though a pillar had been removed from the middle.
At this moment, several dozen cultivators in different attire had divided into three groups. Every group held identical magic artifacts and floated above the gap in neat formations. Beside these organized cultivators floated scattered others. Though their robes matched, the magic artifacts in their hands did not, and several even held rare magical treasures.
The entrance to Mingxi was swept by fierce winds, yet there was no dust in them. Perhaps after years upon years of howling gales, all the dust had long since been blown away. The entire ground gave off a bright scorched-yellow gleam. The wind that filled heaven and earth seemed capable of blowing everything away, yet it could only stir the hems of the Shanghua Sect cultivators' robes. It could not blow away the blazing greed of the several dozen—perhaps over a hundred—Rogue Cultivators floating in the air opposite them.
Indeed, by the time Xiao Hua and the other four braved the violent winds and arrived at Mingxi, the two sides, having just gone through a clash, were temporarily resting.
The disciples of the three sects led by Shanghua Sect floated in the air, their eyes not fixed