The distant mountains undulate like a crouching dragon, the snowy peaks glistening with cold light.
He gazes even further, looking higher still.
The sky of the Dharma Realm presents a peculiar cyan-gray, as if it is a natural gathering of some kind of "qi."
However, it's too far away to sense, and he cannot fly.
"Immortals... no, the Buddhist Sect has such a splendid view..."
Unfortunately, the constant erosion in his sea of consciousness serves as a reminder not to be deceived by appearances...
Meng Chuan turned around, taking in his surroundings once more.
New to this place, he first familiarized himself with the environment before considering other things.
The nearby wasteland only had a few scattered cold-resistant dead trees, their twisted branches resembling iron castings.
A frozen river meandered through, a thin mist curling above it, revealing the faint turbulence below the water surface.
