Could this man be Jin?

Yang Yu pressed his palm against the dim passage wall.

There was no light.

No sound.

Not even a trace of energy fluctuation spread through the air.

Yet the entire passage paused for an instant.

Space had not stopped.

Time had not frozen.

Something deeper had been touched by a permission that should not have existed.

It was like an ancient palace, abandoned for tens of millions of eras, suddenly hearing its master's footsteps in the dust-choked dark.

Tie Tu's back went rigid.

He nearly drew his Serrated Blood Blade again.

He held back.

Not because he was brave.

He was afraid the man ahead might mistake the drawn blade for an after-dinner snack.

After all, the man had just eaten the Mutated God Devourer's core raw.

However vicious Tie Tu's blade was, he doubted it would be harder to chew than that True God immune core.

Dark-red lines slowly lit beneath Yang Yu's palm.

One strand.

Two.

A dozen or more.

The lines were far from dazzling. They were almost dull.

But every Wanderer present knew they were no ordinary laws.

They were the tissue patterns of a True God's Fleshly Body, decayed over countless eras.

They were the deepest, most fundamental remnants of the vast Divine Body of the True God Jin—remnants no one had any right to touch.

If a Wanderer touched them, the best outcome was a drop in cultivation.

At worst, he would be formatted on the spot, from True Spirit to Origin, into a heap of ash without so much as a name.

Yet when Yang Yu touched them, the dark-red lines slowly unfurled like a parched riverbed receiving rain.

They did not resist.

They did not repel him.

Nor did they warn him away.

They responded almost by instinct.

The gaunt old man's