"Nearly half that small spiritual vein has been stuffed into your egg, and you still aren't full."
"Whether you're all right or not, at least give me some reaction."
"Once you're about ready, I'll wake you up. You may have lost your dragon body, but you've still got to muddle through somehow, right?"
"Speaking of which, when Nezha lost his physical body back then, his master stir-fried him a plate of lotus-root flesh."
"After you come back to life, how about I find a way to make you one too?"
"Would you take one made of potatoes? Mainly because I don't like eating lotus root."
"Nezha ended up losing his physical body because he'd killed a dragon."
"You had your physical body divided up by a bunch of dragons."
"Would that count as intertextuality in a literary sense and an element of philosophical implication?"
"Spaghetti mixed with No. 42 concrete can yield the most suitable influenza virus in the optimal electric current of a civilian front-wheel-drive car."
"Forget it. Something this profound is beyond a fool like you."
Though he idly spouted nonsense, the spiritual power flowing from his hands never stopped. The Demon Soul Cocoon brightened and dimmed as though breathing.
But Cui Jiuyang knew it was an illusion.
Inside the Demon Soul Cocoon, Ming's dragon soul lay curled up like a fetus, yet lacked a fetus's vibrant vitality.
He was already in a superposition of life and death. Schrödinger's Cat had nothing on the dragon inside the Demon Soul Cocoon.
After all, when the box was opened, the cat might be dead or alive, and much still depended on guesswork.
But if this egg were opened, Ming was certain to die.
Cui Jiuyang sighed and stopped his idle nonsense, concentrating instead on tending to the enormous Ostrich Egg.