Dongfang Minghui spent every waking moment trying to feed Mo Ce inspirational chicken soup for the soul. By the end, she had racked her brains so thoroughly that she could no longer make anything up, especially as black clouds of mist began spilling over his entire body. His face had shown the most obvious signs at first: black threads appeared across his handsome features, as though something were burrowing beneath his skin.
Later, similar marks appeared not only on his face, but on all his exposed skin.
We're doomed.
Dongfang Minghui had only one thought: this meant Fake Jing Kewei was growing stronger. Five two-hour periods later, she found Mo Ce entirely immersed in black mist, like someone who had succumbed to cultivation deviation and finally become a full-fledged archdemon.
The moment the two constantly warring auras within him quieted, Dongfang Minghui sprang to her feet, gripped the Silk Umbrella tightly, and settled into a position a safer distance away.
"Little Lecher, why am I so sad?" At the thought that Mo Ce's soul might have been devoured, Dongfang Minghui felt inexplicably uncomfortable. An indescribable regret stirred in her heart, an unfamiliar emotion she could neither explain nor put into words. She drew a deep breath, struggling to hold back the tears threatening to escape.
When Mo Ce opened his eyes, his entire pupils were black-pitch-black, bottomless. A faint smile curled his lips, looking exceedingly pleased. To Dongfang Minghui, however, it resembled the smile of a hungry evil spirit.
She instinctively pressed the button in the Silk Umbrella, sending beads whistling toward Mo Ce.
Mo Ce dodged swiftly, avoiding every single round bead with flawless precision. His movements were extraordinary, even faster than before, and he had not even used his curved sword.
Mo Ce stood motionless, his eyes resting