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The grand hall on the ninth floor.
Su Yi stood before the roughly ten-foot black tortoise shell and casually drew a jade fortune stick.
“The ancient spring and autumn.”
The image of a slovenly old Daoist rose unbidden to Su Yi’s mind. The old man stood proudly atop a windswept, snow-covered mountain. One of his hands was behind his back.
The other held up the dome of heaven!
Ye Chunqiu. “Chun” meant spring, and “Qiu” meant autumn.
He was a Daoist cultivator who’d reached the pinnacle of the Immortal Dao.
This peak expert of the Daoist school of thought took the greatest pride in a battle fought on the peak of a windswept, snowy mountain. As one hand held the sky aloft, he used the other to slay three demonic Immortal Sovereigns of the Ancient Demon Domain!
His victory granted the Immortal Realm’s Eighth Gate of Heaven ages of peace!
I wonder if that old slob is still alive… A strange emotion welled within Su Yi’s heart.
A long time ago, Ye Chunqiu and Wang Ye clashed. They fought repeatedly over the course of eight thousand years. Ye Chunqiu lost more often than not.
After the eight thousandth year, he stopped winning altoget...
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