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Time flew, and Mist Smoke Mountain was tranquil, with three months passing in the blink of an eye.
Twenty meters beneath the bamboo cottage, in a secret chamber about the size of two bedrooms, Chen Mu sat cross-legged on a large, soft couch, his eyes closed.
Next to him was a low, square table, on which a fist-sized incense burner wafted curls of blue smoke.
Above his head, more than ten fist-sized jade spheres were embedded, whose inner glow-worms twinkled, casting a gentle light.
In the corner, seven pots of sea heart pine were placed, their branches and leaves trembling slightly, as if breathing and purifying the air.
After a good while, a low hum came from within Chen Mu's body.
Invisible ripples spread outwards like water waves, abruptly bending the vertical strands of blue smoke.
