The Cold Mountain Range

At this moment, Zhang Xiaohua had already fled to his limit, stopping roughly thirty feet above the jade vein. As his divine sense swept through the area, he sensed that much jade remained buried below. Within several yards, everything was flawless white jade, but as for how much lay deeper down, he had no idea.

Zhang Xiaohua's eyes lit up. He reached into his robes and drew out Chasing Dreams. With a pinch of his fingers into a hand seal, he sent it stabbing straight into the jade beneath his feet. When Chasing Dreams was aboveground, Zhang Xiaohua could wield it as freely as one of his own limbs, coming and going at will. But now they were deep underground, and Zhang Xiaohua himself was pinned down by immense pressure, unable to descend any farther. The tiny Chasing Dreams sword fared even worse.

Zhang Xiaohua felt as if the little sword were moving through a thick, sticky swamp. Every inch it descended consumed an enormous amount of divine sense. These thirty feet of distance cost as much as three hundred feet through open air.

Only after the little sword pierced into the jade did Zhang Xiaohua breathe a sigh of relief. With a flick of his wrist, he pried off a piece of the pristine white jade. At his beckoning, both Chasing Dreams and the jade slowly flew back into his hand.

Zhang Xiaohua caught the jade, and his divine sense gradually seeped into it. After examining it carefully, he withdrew his divine sense in deep disappointment. Though this piece of jade was flawlessly white, the Primordial Qi it contained was no different from the jade Zhang Xiaohua had obtained before. It was even inferior to the green jade coffin lid in his money pouch. How could he not be