Mutian Continent, Nether Wasteland
The gentle moonlight cast a soft glow over the wild terrain of the Nether Wasteland, while the surrounding silence heightened its gloomy and sinister atmosphere.
The howling wind failed to breach the barrier of the mountain ridges; sensing discretion was the better part of valor, it veered away with an angry sigh.
Lone stars dimmed, and solitary souls drifted across the wilderness.
The Nether of the present was no longer the brilliant Ming of a million years ago. A single character's difference marked two opposing extremes: the brightness had long since melted away, and the darkness had soaked completely through.
The Nether Wasteland was vast and boundless, its terrain treacherous. A million years ago, people knew it for its stunning landscapes; a million years later, no one knew just how perilous it truly was, because in the past million years, not a single person had ever walked out of the wasteland alive.
Within a radius of a hundred miles around the outer fringes of the Nether Wasteland, no crops would grow, not a blade of grass sprouted, and no living creatures made their home there.
Yet the tallest mountain deep within the wasteland and its immediate surroundings were densely covered with lush trees and abundant vegetation, echoing frequently with the cries of birds and beasts.
No one knew what truly existed in those depths, for anyone driven by curiosity to enter the wasteland never returned.
Even the man-high thickets of thorns at the very edge of the wasteland failed to conceal its terror; countless withered bones hung thickly from the branches, pecked at and tossed about by birds and beasts.
From high vantage points, people could only gaze from afar at the seemingly tranquil surface of the wasteland, utterly incapable of grasping its true horrors.
Even those with profound cultivation had to weigh their own abilities carefully before considering entry.
"Grandfather, the seven-year pact has arrived. We can finally leave this eerie place."
The speaker was a seemingly sweet and endearing young girl. Standing gracefully, she was just eighteen years old with a tall and slender figure.
"Indeed, seven years. The teahouse by the Nether Wasteland is due to close its doors as well."
The old man stroked his snow-white beard with an aged hand while nodding. Yet a flash of sharpness, imperceptible to others, crossed his eyes.
Their teahouse was established at the only route one had to take to reach the Nether Wasteland. Called a teahouse, it also served as the dwelling place for the grandfather and granddaughter.
Seven years ago, the two of them came to this desolate place, cleared the land, farmed, and made a living by selling tea. Although travelers were few and far between, cultivators drawn by the reputation of this barren land came in an endless stream.
Some cultivators would sit in the teahouse for half a month, ultimately lacking the courage to take that step into the wasteland. Others simply brushed past the teahouse, striding with resolute and unyielding steps toward the wasteland.
The girl’s face wore an expression of innocent purity. Her slender fingers deftly packed away the tea sets, while her tear-filled eyes glanced from time to time down the mandatory path leading to the wasteland.
Not a single soul had ever returned alive from within. Seven years had passed, and the person she was waiting for was destined never to take half a step out of that place.
She had long since grown to detest this place. Though she neither feared desolation nor dreaded terror, the most beautiful seven years of her life had stalled right here.
"Qiwei, what are you letting your imagination wander about again? In our line of work, we cannot afford the slightest hesitation or indecision."
Sensing her thoughts, the old man spoke slowly.
"I know, Grandfather. I just want to leave this place as quickly as possible."
The girl smiled faintly, her previously tearful eyes instantly turning sharp.
The old man shook his head without a word, carefully tending to the wood fire as he brewed the final pot of tea for the day.
Suddenly, an unprecedented disturbance erupted from deep within the wasteland, accompanied by the agonizing roar of a mystic beast.
Immediately following came a violent tremor of the earth and shaking of mountains, with sand and gravel flying through the air. The withered bones hanging from the outer thorn thickets collided with one another, emitting crisp yet sorrowful sounds that made one's hair stand on end.
The grandfather and granddaughter involuntarily turned their gazes toward the wasteland. Their eyes were piercingly sharp—unlike those of ordinary people—as if capable of shooting out a murderous blade of blood, radiating waves of chilling cold.
"Is it him?"