Inside an opulent palace somewhere in the Western Regions, Zhao Changhe lay motionless on a luxurious bed, wrapped tightly from head to toe like a mummy. Every part of him, including his face, was thoroughly bandaged, leaving only his eyes visible as they darted around restlessly.0

Standing by the bedside, Ying Five observed him quietly with his hands clasped behind his back, saying nothing for a long while.0

He had fully expected to die on his quest for vengeance. Yet from beginning to end, he had not sustained one single injury. He didn’t even have the minor bruises and scratches that were the inevitable result of a heated battle. Apart from a considerable depletion of his energy, he was completely unscathed.0

Instead, the “helper” he had invited was now lying battered, having been nearly blasted to death. From severe frostbite to deep, open wounds, there was not a single unharmed patch of skin left on Zhao Changhe’s body.0

Even more ironically, the helper had ended up taking the lead throughout the entire battle, while the main character of this plotline...0