The air in the subterranean corridor had ceased to smell of decay.
Instead, it was filled with the thin, sharp scent of pure ozone, cold starlight, and burning sandalwood—the unmistakable fragrance of the high Immortal Realm.
The pulverized stone beneath their feet lay still.
Far down the corridor, behind a barricade of collapsed obsidian flagstones, Ling Luochen and the injured Qian Yunxi were completely shielded from view, but the suffocating pressure rolling off the newly awakened youth was impossible to mask.
They looked to where Haoran and Qing Yan were, and couldn't help but worry about him.
At this time...
Back on the other side...
Shen Haoran observed Qing Yan.
His unblinking golden eyes narrowed slightly, sweeping across the immaculate, starlight-woven robes, the unblemished jade skin, and the nine rotating golden discs humming with ancient seal-script behind Qing Yan's head.
