Stone Ridge Mountain, deep within the earth's core.
Chu Qing sat on a millstone-shaped dark-purple crystal. His skin showed a grayish-white, stony texture, and the rise and fall of his chest was extremely slow. With every breath, a thin, long wisp of purple smoke sprayed from his nostrils.
This place had been deathly silent for nearly two years.
Tens of millions of cultivation paths crashed and ground against one another inside the purple vortex within his body, finally turning into drop after drop of True Blood as thick as mercury. His consciousness was sinking into that godlike sense of control, as if he were counting every broken grain of rice in his own granary.
Suddenly.
Chu Qing's brows twisted sharply together, and the vein at his left temple gave a heavy throb.
At the very end of the great tendon along his spine, an odd sensation came through.
It was not pain, nor was it the rejection produced by the collision of myriad arts. It was an extremely faint yet truly existing "itch."
It was like an invisible mosquito was crouching on his shadow, carefully stabbing its mouthparts into his flesh, sucking bit by bit at the source of the myriad arts that had not yet fully fused.
Chu Qing slowly opened his eyes.
His pupils first spread, then abruptly shrank into a black line finer than the tip of a needle.
(Expression): The corner of his mouth pressed very low, the line of his jawbone taut as pig iron, the masseter muscles at his cheeks bulging high.
"When did bedbugs get into my home?"
He did not move, his voice hoarse as two pieces of rusted iron cutting against each other.
Through the Divine Sense of the [Reflection Realm], Chu Qing began an all-dimensional scan. His consciousness turned into