At this very moment, in the Spirit Ruins Realm, within the Ten Thousand Treasures Hall, in a certain Quiet Chamber.
This was precisely the place where Jiang Fan was in seclusion for cultivation.
By now, this Quiet Chamber had long since been shrouded by a hazy Dao Rhyme. Jiang Fan sat cross-legged on a futon, eyes tightly shut, the aura around him silent like an ancient, bottomless abyss. Only a faint, almost illusory strand of Divine Thought slowly extended along the invisible veins of Heaven and Earth, reaching toward that supreme Law Origin.
At first it was merely an almost imperceptible fluctuation. Gradually, Dao sounds rang out from the void—like the tolling of bells, like dragon chants, like ten thousand spirits chanting in unison—clear yet boundless, piercing straight into the Divine Soul.
