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Wang Sheng had a vague dream about a silver-haired woman standing under the Small Immortal Realm's moon laurel tree. She was gazing into the distance, her head raised in anticipation.
He sighed slowly, then opened his eyes. All around him was a desolate, airless expanse of planet debris. Lishang lay beside him, still unconscious.
He struggled slightly. With no gravity to restrain him, he sat up with ease, but waves of sharp pain surged through him, forcing several muffled groans out of him.
Looking down at himself, he saw that many strips of cloth had been wrapped around him. Flying Cloud had returned to him on its own, while the Dragon Sword hovered quietly nearby as though guarding him and Lishang.
They were still within the grand array, not far from where they had fought. Judging by the flow of time, Wang Sheng sensed that roughly half a month had already passed.
Sect Master Qinglin…
Wang Sheng sighed quietly and looked at the broken sword, which he still clenched tightly. With tangled emotions filling his heart, it took some effort before he managed to pry open his left hand.
The Celestial Wind Sect truly deserved to be annihilated. He had already sworn before that he would...
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