"Spare you?" he asked leisurely. "Then do you still want my Ginseng Fruit? Do you still want this Heaven and Earth Treasure Mirror?"
"No! I truly don't want them anymore!" Luoshanda lowered his head even further, his forehead nearly touching the ground. "Even if you gave me ten times the courage, I wouldn't dare mention another word!"
"Spare you?" Zhenyuanzi asked again, his gaze like nails.
"Spare my life! Please show mercy!" He nodded frantically, his voice trembling. Yet the instant his gaze dropped, it flickered swiftly to the side... That trace of evasiveness was like a bird's shadow skimming past the eaves—brief, but impossible to hide from an old immortal who had lived through several kalpas.
Zhenyuanzi saw through him as clearly as snow: this man begged with his mouth, but in his heart, was he perhaps hoping for some "Lord of Time" or "Lord of Space" to burst through the gates?
He had lived too long and seen too many faces that knelt to beg for life, only to turn around and bite. If Luoshanda truly repented, his gaze should have been clear, empty and still, bearing the weary air of a warrior laying down his armor and returning to his fields. Yet these eyes held nothing but calculation, resentment, and that gloomy glint in the instant before a venomous snake flicked its tongue.
All at once, he felt tired of it.
By the shores of the East Sea, the crowd was an ocean.
Luoshanda and Cecia stood back-to-back against the Wuji Earth Great Formation, their robes snapping in the wind, their faces deathly pale. The clouds overhead split apart, and an enormous finger descended from the Ninth Heaven, thick as a mountain range and long as a Heavenly River bridge. Wrapped in stardust and moonlight, it crashed