Fang Mo sat cross-legged atop the isolated island, his Primordial Spirit bathed in the torrent of space-time. The river was formless and immaterial, yet it carried the force of ten thousand jun; every wash of its current tempered his Primordial Spirit like a craftsman forging iron, hammered and refined a thousand times over.
He did not know how long he had sat there.
One month? Two months? Or a year?
There was no sun or moon within the River of Time and Space, no day or night—only its eternal flow.
His Primordial Spirit gradually solidified within the torrent, changing from faint as smoke at the beginning to possessing a tangible quality now. Fragments of space-time laws swirled around him like stardust in the river, absorbed bit by bit, refined, and fused into the depths of his Primordial Spirit.
Suddenly, he opened his eyes.
It was not because of any disturbance from the outside, but because he sensed that his Primordial Spirit had reached the limit just before undergoing divine transformation.
Fang Mo did not rush to leave the River of Time and Space to break through. Instead, he continued to immerse himself in comprehension. His Immortal Dragon Soul Flame was about to advance.
Deep within his Primordial Spirit, a point of light lit up. Nourished by the long river, it finally began to sprout. The light grew brighter and brighter, like a spark about to ignite.
At the same time, within the dojo.
True Lord Zhenyue, seated cross-legged outside Fang Mo's cultivation chamber, suddenly opened his eyes and looked toward the chamber.
He sensed a terrifying aura being nurtured within Fang Mo, like magma beneath the earth, like a hibernating colossal beast, like a dragon egg on the verge of hatching. Though that aura only stirred faintly, it was already