In the high heavens of the World of No-Life, all the mist had been blown away, leaving the sky a bleak, pallid white.
The "Life-less Ultimate Bliss, eternal freedom from care" once worshipped by hundreds of thousands had, in truth, been such an empty, monotonous place.
All nourishment had been devoured by the Lifeless God Lord.
Not even an illusion capable of offering the slightest comfort to departed souls had been preserved.
Beneath this empty Celestial Vault, Zhang Linchuan stood suspended in the air, quietly feeling that power drain away at breakneck speed—it would not affect the power of his true body, but it affected his World of No-Life, and even more so, his future in the long run.
All his struggle over so long a time had ultimately turned to bubbles, bursting one after another.
A true god of The Present World reduced to a petty god.
The Life-less Cult, with its hundreds of thousands of believers, collapsing overnight.
Seven souls and six lives, painstakingly managed schemes shattering one by one...
Any one of these would have been a blow enough to overturn a life.
Yet he bore them all.
Things like a shortened lifespan, failing vitality, betrayal by all, condemnation by thousands, hated by men and loathed by ghosts—compared to these, they were utterly commonplace.
What, in the end, was life for?
For whom did one toil through an entire lifetime?
Holding the frost-white Buzhou Wind in one hand, he gazed wistfully into the distance. Even one as resolute as he could not help but sigh. "The Present World is so vast, with no end in east, south, west, or north. Can it not accommodate a single Zhang Linchuan?"
All the cult's upper ranks had severed their ties, its hundreds of thousands of believers had dispersed, and every