+---+
Inside the heart of Misty Veil Peak, the winds were no longer singing, yet the leaves were dancing, unaware that once fallen from the tree, life is as small as the Yang rod of Ye Chen.
The cold mist that once brought pride now felt like mourning silk draped over tombstones.
The clouds that used to embrace the pagoda's silver spires now hovered like sentinels of despair.
Mu Shiyue appeared within the inner sanctum with a flicker of pale blue light.
The air here was thick with spiritual condensation, and yet devoid of any visible joy.
The Azure Soul Pagoda towered in front of her, stood like an ethereal structure carved from ancient sapphire jade, its nine levels suspended by floating rings of yin essence.
Without any thought, she took one step forward, her robe fluttering softly under the unavoidable increase of gravity.
There, on the seventh floor... Where gravity was five hundred times than that of normal,
