Early in the morning, sunlight filtered through the blinds, scattering across the bed.
Zhang Fan had an arm over his forehead, eyes open, staring at the ceiling.
The flashes of light that appeared in the Primordial Spirit Inner Scenery last night seemed branded into his mind, flickering incessantly, impossible to dispel.
As his realm improved and his cultivation grew ever stronger, his Primordial Spirit was constantly transforming. Even though he had not yet achieved Divine Fusion, he could always recall some things, remember fragments and glimpses.
"Jiang Lai..."
Zhang Fan murmured softly, memories of meeting Jiang Lai shimmering through his mind.
Their encounter on Zhenwu Mountain was no coincidence—their ties went back as far as a decade ago, beneath Dragon Tiger Mountain, when a crimson moon hung in the sky.
That night, much had happened: factions gathered from all directions, powerful figures vying against each other.
