Wormhole

The old jailer took another drink.

His big gulps had turned into tiny sips. Seeing how carefully he drank, it was as though he feared emptying the cup in one breath.

Then he sighed repeatedly, filled with endless lamentation.

Wang Chen found it quite puzzling. "Senior, this Spirit Wine may be good, but you can afford it too, can't you?"

Habits from his Previous Life, ingrained into his very bones, made Wang Chen fond of stockpiling supplies in his Sumeru Ring.

Spirit Rice, Spirit Wine, Demonic Beast Meat—he always kept a great deal of each. That way, whenever he went out, he felt much more secure.

The facts proved that his habit of preparing for a rainy day was correct.

Although Wang Chen possessed considerable wealth, he would not spend too much on Spirit Food and drink. The secret brew Spirit Flower Wine he had treated the old jailer to was indeed expensive, but ordinary cultivators could still afford it if they gritted their teeth.

He felt the other man was exaggerating somewhat.

"Do you know how many years I've stayed here?"

The old jailer glanced sidelong at Wang Chen and revealed the answer himself. "Forty-eight years!"

Without waiting for Wang Chen to respond, he muttered to himself, "Forty-eight years... I haven't taken a single step out of the Demon Cave. I've seen off countless demons, monsters, ghosts, and colleagues, yet I still haven't seen myself off."

Wang Chen fell silent.

He had never expected this old jailer to have worked in the Demon Cave for so long!

This was probably more than just a matter of luck.

"Then do you know why I've survived until now?"

The old jailer turned to look at Wang Chen. A faint light flickered in his clouded eyes. "I used all my wages to