Returning to the Prehistoric World

Returning to the depths of the prehistoric chaos, a speck of True Spirit revived like firefly light.

When Zhang Hao "opened his eyes," he found himself lying atop a sea of clouds.

The clouds were seven-colored, flowing with Dao rhyme. In the distance, immortal mountains floated in the air, waterfalls hung upside down, and spirit birds danced in graceful flight.

But his first feeling was that something was off.

The spiritual energy permeating the air was so dense it was almost viscous, and the laws of the Heavenly Dao were as clear as if they had been written right before his eyes. Yet within that clarity was a kind of... deliberateness.

Like the backdrop of a stage arranged with meticulous care—perfect, yet false.

He sat up and lowered his head to look at himself.

A blue robe, the appearance of his youth, just past twenty, black hair draped over his shoulders.

His cultivation?

He sensed it, then froze.

He had no cultivation.

Or rather, his current state was very strange.

There were no fluctuations of magical power, no condensed Dao Fruit, yet his consciousness could easily touch any corner of this world. He could hear the Dao Sound from the Purple Cloud Palace beyond the Thirty-Three Heavens, and he could also hear the hawkers crying their wares in the mortal marketplace.

"You're awake?"

A voice came from beside him.

Zhang Hao turned his head and saw a candied-hawthorn vendor.

More precisely, it was a young man of the Demon Race with rabbit ears on his head and a fluffy tail behind him, carrying a straw target frame covered in crystal-clear candied hawthorn skewers. Every hawthorn glowed with spiritual light.

"New here?" The rabbit-demon vendor grinned, revealing a pair of big front teeth. "First time dying and coming back, right? It's