Atop Misty Mountain.
Curling clouds enveloped layer upon layer, seemingly endless, such that even the blazing sunlight couldn't penetrate the fog.
Above the Wayless Sect Mountain Gate.
Chu Yuan held a huge iron box in one hand and gripped a blood-red longsword in the other, standing on a Magic Cloud with his robes fluttering.
"I'm finally back."
Gazing at the territory of his own sect, Chu Yuan felt a pang of bitterness.
The mana of the Golden Core Realm was just too little.
He rode the Magic Cloud returning from Mirror Lake.
He had to stop no less than five times before making it back.
Chu Yuan didn't understand what was happening.
He always felt as though the box had a mind of its own, sometimes heavy, sometimes light, as if it were deliberately tormenting him...
Chu Yuan's gaze fell upon the box in his hand; he fell silent for a while, then shifted his attention to the blood-red longsword in his other hand.
It must be the sword's fault.