The lightning on the sword-dueling platform dissipated, and the situation settled.
The one who lunged for the white sword was Zong Qingxue, while the one reaching for the streaks of light was Fang Shu.
For some reason, the two coordinated with remarkable ease, without fighting over the spoils.
Even the streaks of light appeared to be flying toward Fang Shu of their own accord, rather than toward Zong Qingxue.
Once he caught them, Fang Shu probed them with his spiritual sense and immediately discovered that they were strands of divine thought.
Divine thoughts were thoughts that immortals left in the outside world. They could preserve voices and more, allowing spiritual senses to converse across time, or even to merge.
Needless to say, these strands of divine thought must have come from the phantom that had emerged from the white sword.
And just as the two of them had feared, the fiend harbored ill intentions.
Even though the secret realm's lightning had shattered his divine soul, his wicked ambitions refused to die. As the divine thoughts landed in Fang Shu's hands, they eagerly tried to burrow into his body, moving with startling speed.
In an instant, an immense pressure of spiritual sense appeared within Fang Shu's perception, leaving his mind dazed.
But he quickly shook it off. His gaze chilled, and his true qi surged as he held those divine thoughts firmly in his hand.
Trying to do me harm? He snorted inwardly.
Rather than receive them directly with his spiritual sense, Fang Shu extended white threads from his hand, laying them over the streaks of light one by one.
The Dao Register in his mind stirred, refining the divine thoughts in place of his own soul.
Suddenly, a startled, doubtful voice rang out in his mind:
"What is this? A