Just as Su Yi expected, when he stepped onto the path toward Starpluck Mountain, rain started pouring down from the heavens.

The curtain of rain was like a waterfall, the sound filling the air.

Heaven and earth were instantly shrouded in dense layers of mist, but the water naturally couldn’t influence cultivators.

Su Yi stood with his hands behind his back. Before the water reached him, it silently, tracelessly, slid off him. Neither his hair nor his clothes got at all damp.

He was dressed unusually efficiently: blue robes and a wooden hairpin to hold his loose Daoist topknot in place. It was a clean, neat look.

Perhaps because his presence was too calm, or perhaps because he looked so young, as he walked through the rain and the crowd, almost no one recognized him.

The pouring rain beat against the ground like a drum, but it couldn’t obscure the cultivators’ conversations.

All of them were discussing the battle to come. Everyone was talking over each other; it was a lively scene.

Some were arguing about who would win the battle.

Others were analyzing its effects on the world’s balance of power.

Others still were commenting on Su Yi’s past legendary achieve...