The Western Saints dared not offer further persuasion, for they knew that this outsider before them, like the bird-riding cultivator, was not someone to trifle with. In essence, there was no fundamental difference between them.
They merely fell silent, unwilling to accept it. Naturally, the mystical mumbo jumbo of natives like them could not fathom the principles of heaven; it was mostly a matter of playing tricks to manipulate people's minds and maintain the rule of Blue Island's matriarchal society.
Even so, after dealing with and manipulating such divine matters for so long, they had developed their own fairly effective methods of divination and shamanic invocation. They were certain that someone entering the Sacred Mountain would mean trouble, but precisely what that trouble might be lay beyond their abilities.
Hou Niao shook his head. "Very well, I'll go in and have a look, but I can't promise how much I can do. Besides, perhaps he's just curious?"
He was not acting out of kindness, much less an overflowing sense of justice. It was simply that his current state of contemplation had yielded nothing. Since remaining here had lost its meaning, why not try another approach?
Perhaps this was heaven's will?
The two holy maidens had to remain to preside over the rites, so someone else led him up Western Saint Mountain. On the ground, it was no different from climbing an ordinary mountain.
Blue Island's two Sacred Mountains were not tall, each rising a little over five hundred zhang, without a blade of grass growing on them. The sinkhole lay halfway up Western Saint Mountain, at an even lower elevation.
With a guide who knew the route, he soon reached the so-called sinkhole. Hou Niao looked ahead and could not help feeling a headache coming on.
The pit measured nearly