Yang Yong jolted, then looked down at himself.
A loose scholar's robe, his hair tied high.
He froze.
He turned his hand over. It was fair and slender, with well-defined knuckles.
No calluses, no scars, no trace of ever having held a blade.
As clean as a blank sheet of paper.
His heart hammered wildly in his chest.
Who are you? Where are you? What happened to you?
He instinctively activated the Two-Yang God-Sealing Banner.
The Heavenly Dragon Slash.
...There was no response.
Like dropping a stone down a deep well, waiting a long time, and hearing no splash.
That silence was not quiet from outside, but an emptiness spreading from within his body.
Something had once lived there, scorching hot, roaring, a power that could tear everything apart at any moment.
Now it was empty.
Yang Yong's heart kept sinking, down into some icy place.
Could it be... he had lost all his power?
He turned his palm over.
Hum.
The Ten-Thousand-Forging Primordial Furnace steadily materialized.
Its familiar weight, its familiar warmth, every familiar pattern and casting mark.
His Sequence ability was still there.
Yang Yong let out a long breath, his shoulders easing a little.
A faint sound escaped his throat, something between a laugh and a sigh.
Thank goodness.
Thank goodness... at least he still had the power to fight back.
He braced himself against the edge of the bed and sat up.
Every movement made him feel this body's weakness...
His joints were stiff as rusty hinges, his muscles limp, his bones seemingly hollow.
He slowly surveyed his surroundings.
A battered wooden table, coated in dust.
A patched-together wooden chair, its legs different colors.
An old wardrobe whose doors would not close properly, leaving a pitch-black gap.
A bed.
Nothing else.
Apart from a face that