The Northwest Sand Prison.
Ji Yuan gradually came to a halt in midair, Mu Xueyao's voice still echoing through his Sea of Consciousness.
Just as I thought.
That old Ghost Envoy looked like a Bronze Puppet, but a cultivator's Divine Soul dwelled inside him.
That explained everything.
In fact, doubts had first stirred in Ji Yuan's mind when he met the Ghost Envoy years ago at the Rakshasa Sea.
Whether an ordinary formation spirit or an artifact spirit, no matter how intelligent it was, it could never escape the confines of the object itself.
Nor could it possess such vivid emotions and such a complete, independent personality.
None of that belonged to a mere formation spirit.
With a single remark, Mu Xueyao had confirmed the suspicion buried in his heart.
He simply did not know what had happened to this former cultivator.
What had made him abandon his flesh, lodge his Divine Soul in a Bronze Puppet, and remain trapped in the Rakshasa Sea, guarding the Yin Ghost Sect's legacy for so many years?
Ji Yuan did not dwell on it.
Mu Xueyao clearly knew only the barest details. Asking more would reveal nothing.
Besides, if the Ghost Envoy had chosen not to speak of it, he had his reasons.
As he had said, once Ji Yuan truly united the Abyssal Continent, he would naturally learn what he needed to know.
Thinking about it now was premature.
The urgent matter was to rid himself of the Black-and-White Divine Hall, that thorn in his heart, and take firm hold of the Abyssal Continent's fate.
Ji Yuan put those thoughts aside, and the two rode streaks of light eastward.
Within days, Winterfrost City appeared at the edge of their sight.
Snow and wind still filled the sky.
Not long after Ji Yuan