At night, in a dense thicket, Li Huowang was wrapped in a quilt, keeping a silent watch.
A night without a campfire was bitterly cold; after all, it was only March.
But at this moment, he dared not light a fire, fearing that the flames would draw the monks in pursuit.
By the faint moonlight, Li Huowang reached into his robes and took out the Daoist Bell.
The incredibly potent Elixirs from Master Danyang were almost gone. The bell was the only reliable tool he had left.
But when he recalled how easily the abbot had held it, a strong surge of resentment washed over him.
They had come to hunt him, and all he could do was run. The feeling was unbearable.
In this chaotic and grotesque world, power is everything. If I want to survive, I have to be strong enough!
Even someone like Master Danyang could become so powerful—so why can't I? No matter how bizarre this world's way of cultivation is, I have to master it.
