At the moment when the starry sky was torn apart, Ling Su's consciousness was like a handful of ashes blown away by the strong wind, desperately gathering in the endless fall.
In the end, there were only two words that burned the bone marrow: "Crystal of Wuyuan", and the identity imprinted deep in the soul - a remnant of the Xingqiong Clan.
In addition, the past is like a shattered glass cup, leaving only sharp but impossible pieces that sting every thought.
He slammed into a soft and moist layer of humus, and the impact was mostly cushioned by the thick leaves and forest soil, but the tearing feeling in his body still made him groan, and a fishy sweetness filled his throat.
The light blue protective light film that originally circulated on the body's surface had already shattered inch by inch and turned into light points and annihilated when it penetrated the twisted "sky curtain" filled with indescribable ripples.
At this moment, he could only feel the energy and blood rushing through his meridians, like a wild horse running wild, and every heartbeat brought a dull pain of dislocated organs.
