Mount Bu Zhou.
In a valley, where a stream babbled, fish and shrimp frolicked, and occasionally the surging water splashed against stones, creating droplets that sparkled in the sunlight.
The God of Mount Bu Zhou was clad in a long dress reminiscent of ink wash painting; she sat on a green rock by the bank, dipping her bare feet into the stream, revealing only a solitary, slender back that exuded a natural and intelligent beauty.
Yu Xian stood behind her and got straight to the point:
"Meng young lady, I am in search of Daoist Venerable Haotian."
These ancient Daoist Venerables of the Human Race usually kept to themselves, and were generally unreachable on ordinary days.
But he wasn't much better off himself.
Although he had publicly set up Yu Yuan as his spokesperson, after the last Ten Thousand Years Congress of the Human Race, the other Daoist Venerables had likely guessed that his identity was fake, yet they tacitly chose not to expose him.
