Wang Ping followed Zi Luan, flying upward, while Yu Lian coiled around Wang Ping's arm.
As they approached the zenith of the pavilion, the scene before Wang Ping underwent a seismic shift. The roof, which had appeared to be made of hundreds of giant logs, was now, in his eyes, a platform suspended by nine iron chains. Above this platform was the true roof, composed of hundreds of giant logs.
In the exact center of the platform, a massive log, so thick it would take four people to encircle it, shot straight up to the middle of the roof, connecting with the ridge on the pavilion's exterior.
The surface of this giant log was etched with Talismans that Wang Ping couldn't comprehend. If he looked at them with a soft focus, he could clearly perceive the lines of the Talismans, but if he tried to examine them closely, they became impossibly blurry.
"It's not that they're blurry; it's that you can't memorize them," Yu Lian's consciousness surfaced in his Spirit Sea.
