Ling Yun clutched his head, looking in severe pain!
The middle-aged man chuckled softly, saying, "You're still as cowardly as before."
"Tell me, why is my heart here, and who are you?"
Ling Yun stood up, struggling to overcome his fear of the middle-aged man, and he began to suspect that the middle-aged man in front of him was Yin Feng, whom the Evil King had mentioned.
"An ant is not worthy to know my name. Jiuyou... in my eyes you are still an ant, understand?"
"Heh!"
The veins on Ling Yun's forehead throbbed.
"I didn't expect you to surprise me once again. What is the world outside like? Are they still waiting for me to drink?"
The middle-aged man's lips curled into a smile, as if recalling something, and following his memories, images began to appear above the bloody path.
Ling Yun merely glanced at them casually; every single image was one of slaughter.
"Why doesn't it listen to me?"
What concerned Ling Yun the most was that his own heart only gave him a sense of familiarity, not a connection.
Things that belonged to him could not be taken back?
What kind of logic was that.
Ever since he awoke from antiquity, he had known that he could live without a heart. Without a heart, there was no love—what a tragic thing that was.
"Asked well. Do you think you have the qualification to make me answer you?"
Hearing him say that, Ling Yun immediately raised a finger and lightly tapped the void.
The terrifying sword radiance, resembling the blinding light of day, pressed down and flew toward the middle-aged man.
The entire bloody path trembled violently, and cracks appeared one after another in the void.
The middle-aged man's pupils dilated, and his gaze was filled with disbelief.