"What are you doing?!"
Within the flames, an aged figure struggled up from the painting scroll, his face gaunt and his form illusory.
The moment he appeared, he stretched out both hands and grabbed at Qiu Yan. Chains coiled around his arms, clinking and clanging.
Qiu Yan's eyes flickered as he looked at the painting. "What am I doing? Isn't it obvious? The reason I kept this painting was to release one of the souls within it. Now that my goal has been achieved, what use is there in keeping it? Since it belonged to Tang Yi, it must have some connection to the Upper Spirit Sect. My cultivation is shallow; keeping it would bring harm and no benefit!"
His physical eyes had not mastered the Spirit Eye Art and should have been unable to see ghosts or souls. Yet at this moment, the old man's every movement was plainly visible to him, and even the clinking of the chains rang clear in his ears.
This old man's soul can already manifest in reality! What realm is this?
The more this was the case, the more wary Qiu Yan became. His mind tightened—but then, in a sudden blur, the painting and the old man's soul-shadow vanished before his eyes. Footsteps sounded behind him instead.
"Yan'er, what are you doing here? Why aren't you studying? Have you memorized the three essays I taught you yesterday?"
It was a voice both strange and familiar, one that had appeared in his memories countless times. Qiu Yan did not need to turn around to know who it was—
Qiu Zonglin.
A dead man—or rather, a man who should have died—had appeared again. He walked with audible footsteps and opened his mouth to speak.
At the same time, the scene around Qiu Yan changed as