The scenery was breathtaking, the mountains and rivers stunningly beautiful, with towering peaks rising ruggedly, grandly imposing and deeply secluded.
This place was none other than the Zhenwu Seven Peaks.
At dawn, accompanied by a faint chime that seemed both existent and non-existent, a figure gracefully ethereal as an immortal, from afar to near, instantly appeared before the eyes of the guarding disciples.
"Natural paradises are born, Immortal Mountains have their beautiful names. Ah, the Zhenwu Seven Peaks!" The white-haired Daoist gazed at the seven peaks enveloped in mist and clouds, his words filled with unspeakable sentiment, whether it be nostalgia or admiration.
It had been almost ten years since he last leisurely gazed upon the Zhenwu Seven Peaks like this. At that time, when Qing Yu first laid eyes on such a majestic sight, his heart was filled with desire and hope, the greatest in his life.
Alas, before that yearning could fade, the heavens collapsed.
