Zheng Qing had many guesses about the scenery submerged in the white mist.
For example, beneath it could be a boiling sea of oil, with peaks of blades rising from the sea, where fragmented souls wailed and tattered corpses climbed the peaks, strips of flesh being sliced from them. It was just like real hell.
Or perhaps, beneath was a huge labyrinth, with a ferocious Sphinx crouched at its entrance, and all manner of monsters wandering its paths, requiring great effort for every step he took forward.
But when he descended the steps, passed through the foggy mist and saw a desolate black grassland, he couldn't help but pause.
The scene before him was very similar to the world he had seen before passing through the narrow door.
The same black grass, the same silence and desolation.
