"What do we do?" Qian Dagui panicked too. He pulled out a handful of Clear-Mind Talismans and was about to stick them on Fang Mo.
"It's no use! This is Inner Fire. The talisman paper will turn to ash the moment it touches him!"
In this world, once Martial Artists reached this stage, they either pledged themselves to the imperial court and invited Orthodox Gods like Rulai Zhenwu into their temples;
or joined a sect and enshrined their own founding patriarch;
or, at the very least, paid homage to some Wild God Unchaste Shrine.
Fang Mo was a Black Household.
His body was utterly empty, with only that raging energy inside him, furiously carving out the meridians in his stomach.
By now, Fang Mo's consciousness was caught between half-unconsciousness and half-wakefulness.
Pain.
A tearing, searing pain.
That energy rampaged through his body, desperately seeking an outlet. In the end, it all surged toward his stomach.
His stomach clenched under the high heat and pressure. Every contraction felt like swallowing a red-hot iron block.
He could clearly sense that his stomach was yearning for something, yet it was empty, without a master.
With no god to guide it, the energy began wreaking havoc at random, trying to burst his stomach wide open.
"No god?"
"Invite a god into a temple?"
Deep in Fang Mo's Soul Depth, that last wisp of clarity let out a cold laugh.
"This is my body, which means it's my turf. What god dares throw its weight around in my gut?"
"Since this place is missing a steward..."
Fang Mo's consciousness plunged into the gloomy, deathly silent Black Prison.
"Then I'll put a prisoner in charge!"
Deep in Fang Mo's Soul Depth, the suspended Record of Punishing Crimes stirred without a breath of wind.
The towering, sinister