The consciousness so hazy it could only count numbers repetitively was as lifeless as the ubiquitous flora around—something alive, yet incapable of any meaningful communication.
But isn't the so-called Martial Arts Monarch precisely one who bends heaven and earth to their will through sheer determination?
If a Lingxiao Sect disciple guarding the Rejuvenation Cave were to cease their cultivation and glance toward the cave entrusted to their safekeeping, they would witness a most profound scene.
There, lying on the Cold Jade Heating Bed, was the living dead. At this moment, under the soft glow of golden light, his body was disintegrating. Hardened keratin layers separated from his frame, not dropping away but floating within the yellow aura.
Bit by bit—like countless files at work—they stripped away the scales that had hardened over 90% of Tang Zhi's flesh.
