A cracking sound echoed as the Ghost Painting Book Immortal raised his hand, splitting the space itself. In that instant, I felt an immense surge of ghostly energy, so vast that it forced the surrounding yin energy to scatter. I swallowed hard, unable to fathom just how enormous the Ghost Painting Book Immortal's ghost energy was—already beyond comprehension, and still swelling, expanding further.
Strands of milky white vapor drifted out from the cracked space as the Ghost Painting Book Immortal looked at me with a cheerful smile.
"Come on, Ethan Zhang, let me show you something you've never seen before."
I nodded and floated over, following the Ghost Painting Book Immortal. With a rush of wind, we entered the Shadow Realm.
In an instant, my mouth fell open, my eyes glued to everything around me. Only one word could describe how I felt: shocked.
It was as if this were a world inhabited by immortals. All around, the light was soft, and massive, pure white clouds floated by. Everywhere I looked, scrolls of paintings were unfurled—landscapes, insects and fish, birds and beasts, people—each painting drifting among the clouds.
Large, ink-brushed characters appeared among the clouds, faint and elusive, barely visible.
"Is this what you call abstract?"
The Ghost Painting Book Immortal sat atop a cloud, spinning a thick, coarse brush in his hand.
At that moment, I saw above and below—something blue-black caught my eye. I rushed toward it. It was books, books covering the sky and ground, packed tightly together, forming a vast ocean of books.