The situation was a little like piloting an incomparably primitive dugout canoe, riding the wind and cleaving through the waves atop an endless ocean where raging billows never ceased—
During the process of entering the [Great Desolate Wasteland].
That feeling described above was Ling Wuyuan's truest thought.
There was not the slightest falsehood or exaggeration in it.
Facing those surging powers of space-time that came rushing at him, he had to adjust his movement speed and angle of advance at every moment, and occasionally had to draw on his own power to forcibly pierce through the power of space-time blocking his way, thereby opening a path that allowed him to move—
However.
That being said, the actual difficulty still could not be considered very high.
While advancing steadily and quickly, Ling Wuyuan was fully able to chat at ease with Pei Yiman and the others across the void, even though the two sides were separated by an exceedingly distant span.
A distance that ordinary numbers simply could not measure.
It was as if a great many worlds lay between them.
But before the [Gray Mist Imprint], which had evolved and transformed who knew how many times, this bit of distance could still only count as a tiny, insignificant problem.
Today, forget this little bit of environmental influence.
Even if a cultivator whose strength far surpassed Ling Wuyuan personally took action, they might not actually be able to forcibly sever the connection between Ling Wuyuan and Pei Yiman and the others.
The reason was very simple.
The medium through which they communicated was, in essence, a fragment of Ling Wuyuan's soul.
So their communication with one another could also be regarded as talking to himself; how could that be easily cut off?
This kind of connection, even if one directly called