The Undead Realm had lain in deathly silence for billions of years.
This boundless plane never saw daylight all year round. Only pure yin death energy circulated between heaven and earth, and most regions teemed with violent, bloodthirsty death energy of destruction. The myriad races of the heavens universally recognized it as a lethal purgatory.
Yet within the vast Undead Realm, a very few hidden corners formed peaceful little worlds of their own.
The remote Nameless Nether Valley was one such place.
After settling and filtering naturally over endless ages, the death energy here had shed its violence and brutality, becoming mild and mellow. A gentle nether wind drifted through the valley, carrying thin, pure traces of yin death energy softly over every inch of land, quietly easing some of the cold, eerie stillness that had pervaded the Undead Realm since ancient times.
The rocks within the valley stood silent, and its withered vegetation made no sound. There were no roars of undead slaughtering one another, no chaos from upheavals in the plane. In this Undead Realm of ubiquitous slaughter, it was a rare haven of peace and safety.
Shiheng sat upright on a blue rock before the stone house, his posture straight as a mountain peak, his expression calm and composed.
A full year had passed since he had found his parents' undead bodies and secluded himself here.
Over the past year, he had reined in the overwhelming bloodlust of his defiant incursion into the Netherworld and bloody battles against Asuras and the myriad races. He had set aside all strife and obsessions, devoting himself to seclusion in this remote nether valley. While consolidating his terrifying foundations, which had long surpassed those of a Paragon, and refining the four laws, he had also spared no effort in nourishing and