“Boss! Boss, come quick and look!”
Peony’s shouted news pulled Wang Jixuan out of his meditation.
His celestial perception swept over the place and he couldn’t help but let out a small, surprised sound.
He flew out from the “pharaoh coffin” that had been lying in the corner of the main hall.
When he first left the coffin he was the size of a firefly; the next moment he returned to normal human form.
Looking closely into that coffin, there were tiny, delicate buildings—dance pavilions and singing stages, flowing-water courtyards.
Everywhere displayed exquisite workmanship and careful thought, every detail was refined.
—This was the place where Wang Jixuan had once been trapped, and then cultivated for thousands of years.
Master Wang’s figure flickered several times; silently, he arrived at the side of Xiao Huating and Peony.
As Peony had requested, Xiao Huating closed her eyes, concentrated, and turned to sing.
Her beautiful song rode the breeze into the ears of those nearby, leaving Wang Jixuan feeling refreshed and serene.
He almost wanted to drag a little stool here and listen for a good long while.
Xiao Huating’s simple, comfortable long dress fluttered lightly in the wind.
Right in front of them, a withered branch that had been dead began, at a speed visible to the naked eye, to quickly regain life…