Under the "Rain Eaves," a hundred miles long and wide enough for a pair of horses to gallop side by side, the stream of light transformed from a gray-white shadow suddenly halted. It clung silently between the cliff fissures, for the cold tide had long since pushed forty miles deep into the region. If one were to treat it like seawater, the gray-white shadow was now dozens of fathoms deep.
At this depth, even if it was not as harsh as the area where they had just clashed, the mist and flying frost had long since transformed into hail the size of chicken eggs. They plummeted in a continuous patter, the crisp sound of them striking the rock face mixing into the surroundings, rising and falling in harmony until it actually sounded quite pleasant.
The gray-white shadow—or rather, the fellow disguised as the Moon Demon—confirmed that the formidable enemy behind them was no longer in pursuit, then took a long, deep breath. He let the bone-piercing chill of the outside world circulate once through his body, and far from freezing his flesh and blood, it actually made the heavy injuries scattered across his body slightly better. It seemed this physical form was able to draw strength from the chilling mist.
Thanks to the fact that it was a puppet crafted from the physique of the Moon Demon, naturally born and raised in the Nether Prison without needing to expend effort to resist the cold tide, how else could he have slipped away so easily?
The Moon Demon sighed inwardly with such a thought, while at the same time catching the distinct scent of the Chuanxiang Talisman that accompanied the cold air. He stretched out slender, sharp fingers, gently touched his severely deformed face, and shook his head vigorously:
"Why force