The rice-grain-sized "Miniature Order Field" slowly rotated deep within Ming Xin's dantian, like a lone lamp swaying in a raging storm yet stubbornly refusing to go out.
It was faint, yet steadfast; tiny, yet it radiated an unmistakable, uniquely "Order"-bound rhythm.
Pure, peaceful energy seeped from the core of the force field like a trickling stream, nourishing Ming Xin's nearly dried and cracked meridians and soothing his Dao Foundation on the verge of collapse.
In an exceedingly gentle yet tenacious manner, it began a long and arduous tug-of-war against the corrosive power of the "Law of Finality" entrenched within him.
Ming Xin's consciousness was like a drowning man sunk to the bottom of a freezing deep sea, finally catching a trace of hazy light and pulling force from the distant surface.
That light came from the undying spark deep within his own Dao Foundation, as well as the long-lost warmth of "life" brought by the "Miniature Order Field."
He struggled, resisting the darkness and agony that sought to drag his soul completely into eternal silence, and followed that faint pull upward bit by bit.
After an unknown length of time, an extremely faint, blurry sensation finally returned.
The first thing he felt was bone-piercing cold and omnipresent crushing pressure.
This was not the cold of the flesh, but a chill belonging to "nothingness" and "shadow," one that penetrated the very essence of his soul.
Then came the continuous agony within his body, as though countless rusted blades were slowly scraping across him.
And the weakness and sluggishness deep in his soul, as though it had been torn apart and then forcibly glued back together.
Then he "heard" it—not sound, but Shadow Fiend's familiar yet utterly weakened thought waves, directly reaching his consciousness.
They carried the exhaustion of intense concentration, along