The bookstore had only just taken shape.
The severed remains of that Big Octopus—the half of its enormous body that had still been slowly tumbling through the void, as though it had yet to accept the fact that it was already "dead"—suddenly froze.
The next instant, it began losing vitality at a visible rate.
It was not "death" in the ordinary sense, but a higher-level "collapse."
Its once swollen, full skin rapidly shriveled and wrinkled, as though all its moisture had been drained away. The tips of its tentacles, which had been faintly wriggling moments ago, stiffened like dead branches, then broke apart inch by inch and turned to drifting ash. From its edges to its core, from the outside in, its entire body peeled away, weathered, and finally collapsed completely.
Yet these "remains" did not turn into ore like the corpses of those little fiends.
The collapsed body directly transformed into stardust that filled the sky—multicolored, shimmering, every speck as tiny as dust yet as bright as a star. They circled through the void once, as though they had found their true destination, then fluttered down like a reversed meteor shower and flowed into the small bookstore that had just formed.
Zheng Qing stood at the bookstore entrance, quietly watching the scene.
The stardust passed through the open doors and carved wooden windows, silently landing on the bookshelves and becoming thick volumes, their gilt lettering glimmering beneath the dim yellow light. It landed on the desk, becoming an ancient inkstone, several Wolf Hair Brushes, and a neatly cut stack of rice paper. It landed on the windowsill, becoming that Bamboo Plant which seemed forever unchanged, its branches and leaves unfurling in lush green splendor. It landed on the doorframe, becoming that little bronze bell, whose crisp "ding-a-ling" remained as