The sky is not the sky. Above the dome, the shadow of the mysterious sky is like a mirage. It is a dream that is out of reach for the creatures in this world. It is a cold noose called "ascension" hanging on the neck.
The earth is not earth, the turbid qi accumulates, and the spiritual veins are as dry as an old woman's withered breasts, unable to squeeze out a drop of sweet rain. **Nine Netherworld** is the name of this prison. The earth is a cracked pottery figurine, and the ravines and ravines are rifts leading to more ancient despair, called abyss rifts. Within, the remains of ancient battlefields and the whispers of monsters ferment eternally, exuding poisonous mist that nourishes greed and madness.
Monks are like ants, fighting for scraps on rotten wood. The sect is like a tomb, burying the withered bones of generations that have prayed for and failed.
Qinglan Sect is a crumbling branch in this forest of rotten wood graves.
