No ghosts allowed; one's true nature perfected.
Wang Jixuan emerged from deep meditation. When he opened his eyes, he was still in Ling Tong's room.
However, the place had clearly been tidied up. All the filthy blood from before had been cleaned away.
His spiritual sense spread outward, and the Supply Station was quiet.
Zhou Zhengde sat in a corner of the Supply Station before several terminal displays, a cup of steaming coffee beside him as he spoke into a communicator.
Wan Xiaoqi, now dressed in a short shirt and overalls, was curled up on the sofa with her handheld console. Its palm-sized screen lit up her little face and revealed a few freckles.
Uncle Tai and Sister Wan were probably out on a mission, and the two large Mechanical Dogs were nowhere to be seen either.
Two new rooms had been added behind the Supply Station.
In the outermost "sentry room," Zheng Shiduo lay sprawled on a bed, staring blankly into space.
In the room next door, the young Wu Man wore white pajamas and sat at the bedside reading seriously. All sorts of books were piled around him, and two hand-drawn posters hung on the wall.
Posters of Black Storm.
Where was Ling Tong?
She should have been fine by now.
Wang Jixuan stretched and got to his feet, faint spiritual energy rippling around him.
After purifying the Resentful Energy from those souls, Daoist Wang's cultivation had advanced another small step. His spiritual sense had not increased much this time, but the sea of qi within him had become fuller, his meridians tougher, and his Dao body had improved noticeably.
Thinking it over, it was likely because, when he used demonic arts, his spiritual sense had drawn a vast amount of spiritual energy into himself. After his Dao