The mist that Zhang Chen transformed into settled on the spot, taking a glance at the world after the tempest—a more chaotic and unrestrained hurricane—before turning around and flying back.
This was not a place he should have come to.
A wisp of mist used the night as cover, and Zhang Chen quietly returned to the house, yawned, and lay on the bed: "I'm really tired today; let's sleep first."
The night passed without a word.
"Dang~" The morning lesson bell sounded. Xiaodouding walked downstairs drowsily, yawning and saying, "Zhang Chen, wake up and do the morning class."
Xiaodouding emerged from downstairs with a baby voice, and then came to Zhang Chen's bedside, shouting at him.
Zhang Chen was very tired, extremely tired.
"Can I take a leave from the morning class?" Zhang Chen sleepily asked.
Having the soul refined is a good thing, but the downside is obvious; the weakness of the soul made it hard for Zhang Chen to show any energy.
