Eight days later...
On the banks of Ming Shui River near Tingjian Valley.
The river was as placid as a mirror, reflecting the flawless blue of the sky above.
In the middle of the river, there was a circular stone platform reminiscent of a chessboard, where dozens of yellow-robed disciples, each holding a sword in one hand, stood in orderly rows, gazing across the river at a flat ledge halfway up the opposite slope.
There, jutting out like a tongue, was a grey stone cliff where three white-haired old men were seated, their hair and beards fluttering slightly in the breeze. Around them, several young boys stood in attendance.
The elders were all cultivating with their eyes closed, their white robes and beards gently swaying with the wind. The verdant pines and green mountains framed them, and a faint mist of white Qi lingered before them, giving them an ethereal air, as if they were not of this mortal world.
