Wang Xian had a dream.
He dreamed that Granny Meng, standing above the Forgetting River, struck him with eighty-one consecutive palm blows.
The force of her palms refined the demonic energy he had devoured. Half surged into his meridians, while the other half merged with his flesh.
Just as he was overjoyed and about to thank Granny Meng before leaving, an even more terrifying demonic energy... no, a wisp of demonic soul suddenly poured into his body!
A vast, sea-like, terrifying spiritual energy transformed into a storm and swallowed him once more.
At last, unable to bear it any longer, he threw a punch!
Strike the Mountain, Shake the Ox!
Rumble!
Yellow sand erupted across the desert, and clouds of dust blotted out the sky.
"I'm back again?"
Wang Xian looked up at the sandstorm filling the sky, then at the sand pit beside him—the grave he had dug with his own hands, once called a land of good fortune by the old man.
For a moment, he stood there in stunned silence.
After all those twists and turns, a scroll had brought him right back to the grave he had dug outside Phoenix City.
Before he could think it through, pain seized his entire body, as if countless knives were twisting inside him.
Spiritual energy surged through his meridians, while demonic energy churned in his Divine Sea. His body felt ready to burst at any moment.
He struggled out of the pit, staggering like a drunkard.
It was as if an erupting volcano and a prison of ten-thousand-year-old ice had been crammed into his body at once.
On one side, hellfire scorched his marrow; on the other, the astral winds of the nine heavens tore at his meridians.
Every heartbeat pounded like a war drum, making his eardrums ring.