The autumn was high and crisp, with not a cloud in the vast sky.
On this day, a golden blaze suddenly came from the southwest, traveling across the sky with incredible speed, racing toward the far western horizon.
Below, the great earth unfolded endlessly, with rows upon rows of neatly arranged spirit fields stretching to the ends of the world.
A moment later, a stunningly beautiful spirit peak suddenly came into Zhao Sheng's view.
Gazing at the mountain, full of lush greenery and surging with spirit light, Zhao Sheng's lips curved up slightly, knowing that Azure Mist Peak, his destination, was now right before his eyes.
Just then, the void in front of him rippled, and a middle-aged man with a refined Confucian appearance materialized out of thin air.
This person had a high crown and broad band, his white robe as pure as snow, and an air of elegance that seemed to set him apart from the mundane world, as if an immortal had descended to the mortal plane.
