"..."
Indeed.
If one was an ant, what freedom could there be?
"But..."
"Do ants and vermin truly have no way to survive?"
For some reason, Shen Huai's words mingled with the screams and wails from beneath hell, reaching his ears.
Faintly, they struck a spark in Song Yan's heart.
The ink-black color of hell had already soaked into every limb and bone. His skin cracked like clay, as though he would turn into a vengeful ghost in the next second and merge into the painting.
Yet within the Sword Mansion of the Dao-Subduing, the humming of that little Dao Heart sword grew ever clearer.
No...
No.
Heaven never barred every path...
This was only a painting!
Perhaps everything before him was false, nothing more than transformations of the ink within the painting.
Where was Xiao He?
Against his chest, there was neither the feeling nor any trace of Xiao He.
Yes, this was only a painting.
But even knowing all this, what could he do?
The pain of that filthy ink eating into his body was real.
The exhaustion that muddled his thoughts and dragged his will into oblivion was real.
The shadowy ghosts beneath hell, lunging and biting at him, were real too.
"There must be some way to resolve this..."
"There must be some aid I can draw on..."
"There must be someone who can help me..."
Suddenly!
Song Yan's thoughts stopped.
Aid? Helpers?
Why, in such desperate straits, was his first thought to rely on someone else's help, on support from outside?
And not on himself...
Looking back, it seemed that every life-and-death crisis Song Yan had faced had come with help.
At Silent Valley, Wan Songran had joined forces with him to kill Wang Xi.
At Peach Blossom Hollow, he had both Senior Sister Qin's