There was no time for thanks, nor for arguments. In truth, the four people on the ground had already reached their limits.
Green Hair picked up Bai Huaiguang's two severed arms and fled in panic.
The remaining two hurriedly helped up the barely conscious Bai Huaiguang and ran toward the end of Tianming Bridge. They seemed to know where they could enter the underground—Branch No. 8.
Now, only the black-clothed, long-haired man remained aboveground. His expression was cold as he leaned on the Stage Sword, standing alone before the White Screens on all sides.
The White Screens remained. The barrier had taken shape.
Ji Li was like a shadow that had wandered into a shadow play, his figure reflected upon the screens as countless Black Lines returned with even greater ferocity.
The Black Lines spread rapidly, moving in irregular patterns without any discernible shape. Their apparent purpose was to turn the White Screens completely black.
Perhaps because of Ji Li's arrival, the Painting Ghost had changed its strategy and adopted a more aggressive, even more extreme approach.
It was no longer merely using the White Screen barrier. It intended to seize complete control of it, leaving the person who had stepped into this place with no chance of escape.
Ji Li watched the scene, the Stage Sword in his hand, yet made no move to stop it. He merely stood in the north, his tricolored eyes examining his surroundings.
A deep red had already filled his eyes, drawing a ring of crimson around the edges of his gray-black pupils.
Amid the torrential rain, though he was doing everything he could to restrain it, the trembling of his body and the golden light on his back both foretold that the Evil Spirit was trying to split him apart once more.
"Not