Deep beneath the Western Ox-He Continent.
A Śarīra giving off a faint golden glow hung overhead, illuminating the rather small space.
There was all sorts of earth and stone around them, but rather than securing it with spell arts, they had propped it up with staffs and other objects.
After all, their pursuers were all Tribulation Transcendence cultivators, and even the slightest unusual fluctuation of spiritual power was highly likely to be detected.
The glowing Śarīra hung overhead not because the fleeing trio needed light, but because it could block attempts to probe their auras.
It was this useful property that had earned it its place overhead.
By now, Wukong had little spirit left. His expression was calm, with a hint of looking as though he had been dead for some time, as he lay beside an earthen wall that would shed dirt without spells reinforcing it.
Guangming Buddha also looked somewhat weary, though his spirits were a little better, and he had few complaints about their present predicament.
At least he was still alive, and he had not been locked up.
Winter Melon was undoubtedly in the worst shape.
The left side of her abdomen had been pierced through, and her clothes were already in tatters, blood staining the luxurious garments red. This was not because she had only this one outfit in her Spatial Ring, but because her other clothes were inferior to what she was wearing.
If she changed again, she would have to ask Wukong for monk's robes.
Winter Melon's face was deathly pale. Remnants of a Buddhist Sect cultivator's attack still lingered in her abdominal wound, hindering its recovery.
Among the fleeing trio, she alone had the lowest cultivation, could not run fast, and was easily picked out by a sweep of divine sense.
In