The Old Man's Secret

There were no days or moons in prison. Wang Xian felt as if he were the luminous old monk of Hanshan Temple, living a life of cultivation.

At least, within the black prison, he had ground away the runes on the stone walls and bars, replacing them with his own formation arrays.

The sleeping crow and Hu Keke showed no signs of waking, so Wang Xian felt no need to hurry.

Every day, he either carved great arrays of runes into the stone walls and bars or quietly cultivated his Immortal Longevity Scripture.

In the eyes of the old man across from him, more than a month had passed, yet the youth in the opposite cell showed no sign of despair.

Instead, faint glimmers of light would occasionally emerge from the darkness and spread toward him.

The old man's wrinkled face twitched slightly as he slowly awoke from a half-conscious state.

A wisp of faint death energy drifted toward Wang Xian.

Quietly sensing the aura emanating from the old man, Wang Xian had the feeling that he might die at any moment.

The old man was stubborn, unwilling to bow his head to fate.

But this heavenly prison had been built by the old man himself. The Old Daoist had once told Wang Xian that a person's greatest opponent was not the enemy standing before him.

It was himself.

Looking at the old man before him, Wang Xian gradually understood the lessons his master had taught him.

The dying old man probably never imagined that the heavenly prison he had built would ultimately wear him down.

Deep in the night, even the guards watching the prison had gone off to dream.

Yet as the old man stared in astonishment, Wang Xian gently pushed open the iron door cast from cold