With a headache that felt as if he had been hit by a hundred golden elixir monks from the cultivation world in turn with magic weapons, Cheng Yu suddenly opened his eyes. What he saw was not the spiritual fire that lingered all year round in the magic weapon refining workshop, nor the sword light in the sky where the righteous coalition forces were shouting and killing, but a gray ceiling, the walls were raised high, and there were a few wisps of black mildew hanging on the corners. A musty smell mixed with the smell of cheap mosquito coils entered his nose, choking him and almost coughing.
He moved his fingers, and his whole body was as sore as a pile of mud. There was also a soft, frighteningly hot little body pressed under his arm.
Cheng Yu's head was buzzing. In his previous life, he was a demonic weapon refiner who was traveling sideways in the world of cultivation. What kind of battles had he not seen? When he was crossing the tribulation, he was hacked by the Heavenly Dao, surrounded by the Righteous Path, and stabbed in the back by his fellow disciples. There was no one who had to force his way through it through mountains of swords and seas of fire. But at this moment, his fingertips touched the scalding temperature, and his heart, which had been tempered for thousands of times and was as hard as black iron, suddenly clenched into a ball, and he gasped in pain.
