Ye Wudao opened his eyes, his face even paler than before.
He realized that the dangers of the Thousand-Soul Mist were greater than he had imagined.
The light points here could not be drawn in at will.
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Once he drew in the wrong one, unfamiliar memories would strike his divine soul.
If he drew in too many wrong light points, those unfamiliar memories might even burst his divine soul apart.
Then he would not be here searching for soul light points—he would become a madman, trapped forever within the Thousand-Soul Mist.
Ye Wudao took a deep breath and suppressed the irritation in his heart.
He no longer rashly tried to draw in light points.
He simply walked, simply sensed.
One by one, he carefully distinguished them.
He encountered the third light point on the third day after entering the Thousand-Soul Mist.
It was a white light point, floating deep within the gray mist.
Ye Wudao had merely been passing by when he happened to glance at that light point.
At that very instant, he sensed something unusual.
It was not a powerful resonance, but a faint familiarity, so weak it was nearly imperceptible.
Ye Wudao stopped and turned to look at the white light point.
He hesitated for a moment, then cautiously released his divine sense and probed toward it.
The instant his divine sense touched that white light point, there was no powerful resonance, no unfamiliar memory—only a sense of calm.
Like a wanderer who had drifted outside for many years finally seeing the lights of home.
Ye Wudao's heart suddenly skipped a beat.
This feeling...
He was not sure.
Because this feeling was too faint.
So faint that he almost thought it was his own illusion.
He hesitated for a moment and did not immediately