At this moment, in Rising Dragon Sect.
Compared to five years ago, it has now become even more majestic, with players numbering into hundreds of thousands, with the strongest of them already being in the Golden Core Realm.
The desert where their sect is located had been physically rewritten.
What had once been an abandoned cultivation school with rotting wooden pavilions, cracked stone walkways, and a handful of weak outer disciples was now a bustling megalopolis of spiritual warfare.
Jade pavilions and defensive stone walls fortified with glowing array formations stretched as far as the eye could see across nine connected peaks.
Hundreds of thousands of figures scurried across the roads, clad in mismatched enchanted gear, loudly haggling over demonic beast pelts, shouting strange alien slang, and seem to treat the world as a game.
And at this moment, Yun Ming was lounging on a rattan chair, basking under the sun with an orange juice.
