I hereby apologized for all my youthful recklessness, all my shameless boasting, and all my careless talk.
A bow.
For the Qingshan Game Console.
One bow.
Two bows.
Three bows.
Straightening up, Lin Feng studied the Qingshan Game Console carefully, then offered it another stick of incense.
The Qingshan Game Console did not crack.
Lin Feng was a little disappointed.
As his cultivation and standing rose,
he had begun to vaguely sense certain things, such as the so-called principle that "ritual propriety does not extend to commoners."
Feudal dregs in the realm of mysticism.
If he paid grand respects to a God whose standing and accumulated virtue were lower than his own, the recipient would suffer damage.
He had tried it on the Qingshan Game Console, but the console remained unscathed.
Between testing whether the Qingshan Game Console could withstand him kowtowing to it and getting down to business, Lin Feng chose the latter.
The pain this time had left Lin Feng shaken.
It was no less agonizing than drowning.
You really have no humanity, do you, game console? No blocking the sensations of death, no reducing the pain.
Authenticity was its whole selling point.
Lin Feng had already experienced the sensation of dying several times.
This experience had not heightened his fear of death, but it had certainly introduced him to a new way to die.
Someone had stuffed red mud into his Seven Apertures.
He had been suffocated to death.
A Seventh Rank warrior who could take on a thousand soldiers in armor had been suffocated alive.
It sounded rather ridiculous.
The suffering of such a death was doubled. Lin Feng still felt deeply uncomfortable. Duck Ravine really was no ordinary place.
This experience had told Lin Feng something.
He desperately needed the Painted Skin.
He had suppressed