At this moment, in the pitch-black night, two rows of bronze lamps lit up on the second floor of this small courtyard, the flames flickering with a dim yellow hue.
Against the candle-yellow light, silhouettes were reflected on the window.
In front of a low table, seven or eight people knelt, their upper bodies straight, divided into two rows, with swords placed horizontally on their thighs—a demeanor reminiscent of a guest.
Behind the low table, clothed in a black python robe, the Heir of Beiliang gazed slightly downward, looking at the person in front.
The other person held both hands respectfully, "Currently, the mirage in Taiping County has begun affecting real space. That Ancestor Mountain, as the locals of Taiping County call it, is enveloped in thick fog. I've ventured in to investigate; it's like a maze, no matter what methods I use, I just end up going in circles and cannot proceed."
"I suspect this isn't some illusion realm, but rather a twist in space!
