Master Tiger followed close behind, his right hand gripping the saber hilt at his waist, his muscles taut.
He Feixu was clearly agitated to the extreme. His fists were clenched so tightly that his knuckles had turned white, his lips pressed into a straight line, his chest heaving as he, too, stepped into that unknown gray mist.
The mist before them parted and closed like rippling water. When their vision cleared again, the three found themselves on an enormous platform.
There was nothing particularly special about the mountaintop. Like the rest of the mountain, it consisted of black rock, but here it was exceptionally flat and open, forming an enormous natural stone terrace.
The stone terrace was empty except for a figure sitting cross-legged at its very center-Xuanyuan.
To say that Cui Jiuyang felt no fear facing a being equal in standing to the Prefect of Mount Tai would have been self-deception.
Yet, extraordinary as Xuanyuan's abilities were, his mind had long since become twisted, straying from the accepted path.
If they did not seize this opportunity to stand before him and confront him, there was no telling how many more innocent people would fall under his influence and suffer his persecution, sinking into the abyss of this delusion realm of life and death.
Though in Xuanyuan's own mind, none of what he had done was persecution. Rather, he was "redeeming" everyone from his rigid, rule-bound elder brother and granting them so-called "freedom."
Master Tiger's feelings were also rather complicated at that moment, impossible to put into words.
As far as he was concerned, wherever Cui Jiuyang went, he would go.
Besides, the Underworld Office had not only resolved the latent danger of the conflict between his soul and body, but had also granted him the position of Ghost Constable.