The Yong River had arrived.
Quinn Shepherd looked around. When Village Chief had brought him here searching for Carefree Haven, they'd passed through this area before. The village where the Underworld Courier led souls shouldn't be far from here. At most, it was five or six days’ journey back to Oldridge Village.
It was already late August. The sun was still blazing hot, hanging high in the sky. Thinking back, it had been a rough journey—when Quinn left the capital with Crown Prince Luther Ling, it was still spring, and now it was already late summer. Another season, and it would be time to return home for the New Year.
Everything they'd experienced along the way was nothing short of legendary.
As they traveled downstream along the river, a sudden gust of vapor swept over the water, then thick white mist sealed off the river, and everything around them vanished from sight.
Quinn immediately stopped, and everyone else hurried to halt as well, standing motionless on the river’s surface.
Raina Bear’s heart tightened. She whispered, "Is it a monster?"
Quinn shook his head. "Doesn’t seem like it. It’s probably one of the Great Ruins’ weird phenomena."
Just then, the Worryless Sword in its wooden scabbard on Quinn’s back began to ring sharply. Quinn’s heart stirred—Worryless Sword almost never sang on its own. The last time it did was when he encountered his father Hansen Keane’s divine ark.
Worryless Sword kept vibrating. In the mist, the sound of countless troops and horses gradually approached, as if endless armies were passing through. Kira Bear cried out, "Look under our feet—the water’s gone!"
Quinn quickly looked down. Somehow, the Yong River beneath their feet had vanished, replaced by dry, yellow earth.
The mist slowly faded, growing thinner and thinner, and vague figures began to move all around them.
Quinn, Raina Bear, and the others froze, their bodies stiff with shock. All around them stretched a vast Gobi desert, yellow sand swirling in the air. Tens of thousands of cultivators in ancient attire, accompanied by giant beasts, were constructing enormous buildings.
These structures weren’t houses for ordinary people—their towers soared majestically, pagodas pierced the clouds, and palaces gleamed with gold. It looked like a place for giants or gods to live.
On high altars stood radiant gods, their bodies shining with golden light. Some had bird heads and human bodies, others beast heads and human bodies, all clad in golden armor, their divine eyes blazing.
These were living deities—wherever they stood, it was bright as day, never touched by night.
Tens of thousands of cultivators, under the gods’ supervision, were forging a vast palace complex for the divine. The scale was breathtaking.
But weren’t they supposed to be on the Yong River?
How could this be a desert?
Several chi-dragons pulled a jeweled chariot racing across the sky. From afar, a voice thundered, shaking heaven and earth: “By command of the Supreme Sovereign: the Ministry of Works shall supervise construction of the Western Palace and open water transport!”