Tang San had a very long dream.
In his dream, his martial soul flashed, and a stalk of bitter bamboo appeared in his hand. With one leap, he reached the Divine Realm, where he gleefully clubbed down god kings, one per swing.
Wait, bitter bamboo?
He jolted awake, his head drenched in sweat. Xiao Wu had stayed by his side the whole time. Seeing him wake, she threw herself onto him, her eyes red. "Brother San, you're awake!"
Tang San did not answer. He pushed Xiao Wu away and frantically summoned his martial soul.
Blue silver grass drooped from his palm, and the third Soul Ring hanging over it was a glaring white beneath the midday sun.
"No, impossible! Absolutely impossible!"
Even with two lifetimes behind him, Tang San completely fell apart at that moment.
Was this some kind of joke? Had stroking that bitter bamboo and comparing himself to it really made him resonate with it?
He had only heard Grandmaster mention sacrifice in passing. He had never imagined it would happen to him, much less that the one sacrificing itself to him would be a stalk of bitter bamboo that had only just reached ten years old!
For a moment, all his strength seemed to drain away. Despair filled his face, and even his fingertips trembled.
Once Tang San woke, the others gathered around him as well.
It was already noon, and the aroma of lunch drifted over from nearby.
Zhao Wuji looked at the still-devastated Tang San, sighed, and walked over to hand him some dry rations.
"Tang San, eat something first. Then see what your soul skill is. You can develop a whole new fighting system and move away from your old control role. After all, looking ahead and adapting to your circumstances is your only