Tranquil Peak.
Ten thousand majestic mountains stood tall, shrouded in immortal fog. The mountain's stone steps — trodden over the years by countless disciples—were still neatly arranged. Ordinary people, with cautious hands on the rocky path, did not dare to gaze downward, fearing to fall into the bottomless abyss of the mountain. They stared in awe at the immortal-like scene before them.
White cranes streaking swiftly across the sky carried numerous disciples, seemingly gathering quickly for some affair. One could also spot a disciple clad in azure robes soaring through the sky on his sword.
Everyone ascending the mountain was filled with envy towards these sect disciples, silently vowing in their hearts that they would strive to become as outstanding as them.
At this moment, Han Ye flew on his sword – streaking like a red beam of light, hanging above the Tranquil Peak. Gazing upon the scene before him, memories began to fade in and out of his mind.
