Martial Extreme Peak.
Flowing clouds undulate like water ripples, the clouds at the horizon sometimes curl, sometimes stretch, continuously spreading toward the end of the mountain, creating a picturesque, poetic scene.
Before the hall, the pond is clear, unknown fish swim leisurely within, stirring ripples, all things seem to have spirits, swimming joyfully.
Beside the pond, there is a chessboard, black and white pieces starkly contrasting, containing a mystical artistic conception.
Surprisingly, the chess players are an old man with white hair and a nearly twenty-year-old youth.
The old man's face is furrowed with deep lines, his head surrounded by an aura of death, his visage withered, lips parched, as if a slight breeze could topple him; his pupils white, different from ordinary people, looking extremely eerie.
"Zhuang Qing, the little ones of the Martial Extreme Sect will all depend on your protection this time."
