"Something unusual?"
Hong Yuan's sleeve fluttered, and two small wooden boxes appeared in his palm. He held them out toward Feng Nanyan. "Which one did you mean, Brother Feng?"
Feng Nanyan's gaze sharpened as one of the wooden boxes abruptly sprang open, releasing a cold, vicious pulse.
An eerie aura swept through the quiet, elegant bamboo courtyard in an instant. Before Feng Nanyan's eyes, the courtyard kept sinking, falling, plunging into a lightless darkness.
Then pinpricks of ghastly green light appeared. Everywhere Feng Nanyan looked, he saw a land of deathly silence. Rotten corpses and bleached bones covered the ground beneath his feet, while graves crowded around him.
Whoosh!
Beneath a crumbling burial mound, a stark white skeletal hand suddenly reached out of a rotting coffin.
The sight would have left any ordinary person trembling with terror, but Feng Nanyan remained calm. A gleam of sword light flashed through his eyes, then surged into a magnificent ribbon that slashed through the air.
The dead, decaying world shattered at once, dissolving into scattered illusions.
Only then did Feng Nanyan clearly see what lay inside the open wooden box: a small white bone plaque covered in cracks.
With another crack, one corner broke off. The cold, fierce aura surrounding the bone plaque grew unstable, like a candle flame in the wind that might go out at any moment.
"A Spirit Vessel of the Phantom-Soul Astral Art?"
Feng Nanyan studied the bone plaque, a hint of surprise appearing in his eyes. "Of the three paths-true art, pill path, and astral body-astral body cultivation is the most dangerous. Achieving the inner and outer astral bodies already means walking before the gates of death. With the Phantom-Soul Astral Art, the slightest misstep brings eternal damnation..."
"Across this vast world, those who have mastered the Phantom-Soul