Everything was pitch-black, with only the faint sounds of seawater steadily surging in.
Lian Youming's expression was grave, but by now his qi-blood had fully dispersed the drug's effects. His features seemed beyond his control, twisted into a hideous grimace by the tug of his strength. Blood flooded his eyes, and veins bulged at their corners, making him look like a demonic yaksha.
Mr. Corpse, meanwhile, shook the two short needles from between his fingers, then pressed a palm heavily against his chest. He actually used inner strength to stimulate his heart and lungs, raising his internal breath and strengthening his force.
Lian Youming took all of this in. It seemed those two needles were how this man preserved his vitality.
Much like the Turtle-Breathing Technique, he used golden needles to seal vital acupoints along his heart meridian, keeping the rhythm of his heart and lungs extremely low and reducing the expenditure of his vital essence as much as possible.
Moreover, more than half a year had passed since their last meeting. Presumably, he had accumulated considerable vital essence by now.
Drawing out the needles and rousing his strength now was like unlocking his shackles.
The old bastard was going all out.
But Lian Youming could not help sneering. These people lived long lives and were formidable enough, but that could not change one fact: they clung to life and feared death. Precisely for that reason, those martial artists of old, those old monsters of Mystic Connection, dared not act lightly. Otherwise, once a battle exhausted their vital essence, replenishing it in this era would be harder than ascending to heaven.
That was also why they buried themselves deep underground and would not emerge unless a great age arrived.
Likewise, Lian Youming finally understood the importance of those reserves.
Only