When the snoring began.
Zheng Qing was asleep, yet he was conscious of the fact that he was not asleep.
His consciousness detached from his heavy body, caught up by a cold wind, slipping through the tiny gaps between the trees, entering the deepest part of the night.
This wind was unusually cold, as though coming from the pitch-black outer space, freezing Zheng Qing's thoughts solid.
This feeling continued until the chilly wind stopped, and he fell to the ground.
The Warlock moaned quietly, getting up from the pitch-dark lawn.
He looked up.
In front of him was a massive black iron gate.
The gate was incredibly tall and wide, possibly spanning dozens or even hundreds or thousands of miles—it was hard to determine without a clear point of reference; Zheng Qing could only discern that it was colossal. Standing before it, the Young Wizard felt like a speck of dust.
The gate was adorned with many bizarre figures.
