Throughout the Xianglu Mountain Range, the leaves were falling in profusion.
The atmosphere resembled that of a looming storm in a building, oppressively solemn and somber. Powers from all places gathered with their own ulterior motives, each with their own strategies.
The Orthodox Path, the Demonic Path, the Monster Clan, the Ming Clan, and even the Prime Minister of the Great Tang, Zhang Jushan, were all playing chess.
And the chessboard was this entire world; the only thing that could change the game was the calamity that was soon to arrive.
Within Mount Xianglu, Ye Qinghong moved like a shadow. With a light tap of her toes on the ground, she transformed into a streak of light and instantly entered the mountain.
The falling leaves and the misty fog veiled her figure, making her gaze all the clearer and her posture even more graceful—her beauty was breathtaking.
