"How many days has it been now...?"
Ji Jue slumped in his wheelchair, sighing heavily. "Why is there still no news from the Security Bureau? At least give me some big news..."
They weren't really going to make him turn himself into a fiend, were they?
A gaunt, haggard face emerged upon the polished mirror surface.
His skin was pale, as though he had not seen sunlight in years. He was so thin that he was little more than skin and bones; his breathing was slow enough that no one would find it strange if he were lying in intensive care.
Yet, amid the strands of pale hair that emerged one by one, an eerie light faintly emerged within his increasingly black pupils. In his absentminded glances and lowered eyes, something smoldered soundlessly.
Like some ghostly demon lodged within a corpse, he radiated a chilling yin aura.
Even if Tong Zhiwu were standing before him now, he probably would not recognize Ji Jue.
How long had it been?
He had no idea at all...
It seemed like only a few short days had passed, yet it felt as though one or two months had gone by.
Every day, he repeated the cycle of cramming and crafting, without a moment to catch his breath.
Even in his dreams, there was no escape. Amid countless chaotic theories and refinement formulas, all the nightmares and memories of his life surfaced one after another.
Those intermittent, shattered dreams alternated with a reality so busy that it made him cough blood, until Ji Jue had completely lost his sense of time.
Perhaps that was one of Jianyuan's objectives.
Or perhaps time within the Workshop... had always been different from the outside...
Deepdark theories and techniques were not purely tedious yet wonderful courses like advanced mathematics.