Wang Jixuan stood with his hands behind his back, eyes closed, waiting in silence.
Gao Huating’s singing carried an oddly soothing power that calmed the unrest and irritation in his heart.
The agitation that had gnawed at him eased considerably.
Restlessness comes when stillness has been pushed to its limit.
And indeed, he had been troubled.
When he drifted through the past, no one knew his name.
If they hadn’t deliberately exposed themselves, even the Heavenly Dao would be hard-pressed to find his traces.
Back then, initiative was all in his hands.
But now, having returned to the present world, that initiative was rapidly slipping away.
Poluo was powerful.
The existing order of the Immortal Realm was woven tight.
The Eight Great Immortal Palaces were at once separated and intertwined — a web of roots and knots too tangled to count.
And he was just a newly risen immortal.
Even with a Daluo Golden Immortal helping him and fleets of starships at his back, his influence within the Immortal Realm was, to put it bluntly, practically zero.
What would his path forward be?
The enemy was there.
It hosted itself inside the Heavenly Dao, standing above light and dark; the two vast organizations, Tianluo and the Dark Cult, drove it.
Between him and this Poluo, neither could afford to let the other go.