"…"
Indeed.
If one is an ant, how can one speak of freedom?
"It's just…"
"Do ants and insects truly have no way to survive?"
For some reason, Shen Huai's words, intertwined with the screams and wails from Avici Hell, entered his ears.
Faintly, they sparked a tiny ember in Song Yan's heart.
The inky blackness from Avici Hell had already permeated his limbs and bones; his skin was cracked like pottery, as if he would turn into a vengeful spirit and merge into the painting at any moment.
However, within Zhen Dao Sword Mansion, the hum of that Dao Heart small sword grew clearer.
No… no.
Heaven never seals off all exits… this is just a painting!
Perhaps everything before him was fake, merely ink and wash transformed from the painting.
Where was Xiao He?
There was no sensation or trace of Xiao He on his chest.
That's right, this was just a painting.
But even knowing all this, what should he do?
The pain of these murky black inks eroding his body was real.
