Seeing that strand of breathing soil about to dart into the door, Meng Jinsong raised his flamethrower and pressed the trigger with force—the experience with water ghosts proved useful. The breathing soil indeed feared fire. Before the flames even reached it, it had already changed direction and retracted.

The door opening wasn’t large. One person could guard it, and just one or two people could hold it. Meng Qianzi hurried up to look. That one strand didn’t come back, but the others continued to dart in various directions. The flashlight beams didn’t reach far enough to see where these frantically growing tendrils were heading.

Meng Qianzi’s heart pounded like a drum. She didn’t know how Jiang Lian and Shen Gun were doing, but at a time like this, worrying was useless. They were beyond her reach. She could only guard her position. She immediately instructed the remaining people: “Split into two groups and guard the rear as well. If anything happens, immediately…”

Before she could finish, her body suddenly lurched violently, her head nearly hitting the opposite mountain wall.

Meng Qianzi’s first reaction was to raise her hand against the rock to steady herself. Almost simultaneously, she realized she wasn’t the only one swaying—everyone staggered to varying degrees.

A chill crept over her heart. Could the mountain intestine be moving again?

Meng Jinsong thought of this too and shouted urgently: “Quick, tie the ropes!”

The people on this trip had all been “centipede people” during their previous escape from the mountain intestine, experiencing the perilous tug-of-war between cliffs. They were now well-practiced in this. A long rope was quickly passed out. After one person secured it around themselves, they immediately passed it to the next. As they were tying the knots in tense haste, a cracking sound of breaking rocks came from not far above, filling everyone with foreboding.

What was happening? Everything around them immediately fell silent, with only diagonal beams of light, some illuminating the mountain walls, others casting over deathly pale faces with frightened, uncertain eyes.

Meng Qianzi noticed that the passage where they were seemed to be tilting.

The cracking and breaking sounds grew louder. Outside the door, in the void, dust fell in billowing clouds.

Meng Qianzi suddenly realized what was happening.

Breaking the mountain intestine! The breathing soil frantically growing upward, like tentacles probing into different intestinal passages, was trying to… break the mountain intestine!

Who knew what Jiang Lian and Shen Gun had done below, but those “things” were now desperately fighting back. The mountain intestines were hollow and intertwined with each other. The breathing soil had entered the intestines. By forcefully gripping the “connecting points” of the intestines and pulling downward, the intestines would likely fall section by section.

They were prepared to perish together: if you want me to die, I won’t let you live either. Or perhaps, if I can kill you before I die, then I won’t have to die at all.

So it was useless for them to guard the door and drive away the breathing soil with flamethrowers. The mountain intestine project was a whole; if parts elsewhere were detached, it could create a chain reaction, causing their section to collapse as well. And they had no idea where to seek refuge—any part could potentially collapse.

Another breaking sound rang out. The intestinal passage where everyone was suddenly tilted sharply. Meng Qianzi’s mind went blank, certain this time they would fall for sure. But as if playing a cruel joke, amid the desperate screams, the mountain intestine tilted about thirty degrees and then shakily came to a stop.

Whether it would truly “stop” depended entirely on luck. Meng Qianzi licked her dry lips: “Quickly, look for protruding rocks or cracks in the mountain where we can insert knives for leverage. Use any means possible, we must ‘stick’ ourselves to this intestinal passage!”

This way, perhaps there would still be a tiny… chance of survival.

At the same time, Jiang Lian’s group was also facing grave danger.

The column of breathing soil wasn’t just going upward. Soon, several fierce pointed tendrils split from the column, dancing wildly in mid-air, poised to pierce toward the two men.

Fortunately, Jiang Lian had already unlocked the flamethrower at his waist. With the nozzle tilted upward, huge flames immediately surged forth. Those pointed tendrils dodged quickly, dancing high in the air, their tips like snake heads exploring downward in attack positions, apparently waiting for another opportunity to strike.

Jiang Lian silently cursed their misfortune. On this trip down, they had carried many items. Even knowing the importance of flamethrowers, they could only equip one per person, as they couldn’t carry more, although they could temporarily fend off the breathing soil; now, it could grow indefinitely. The two flamethrowers they had between them would be exhausted after a few uses. At that point…

And why had the breathing soil gone straight up? How was Qianzi? Had she also encountered attacks from the breathing soil?

Just as he was thinking, the second wave of pointed tendril attacks arrived. Jiang Lian’s scalp tingled. Gritting his teeth, he faced them head-on, holding down the trigger without letting go, spraying directly at the column.

He needed to burn through this thing, burn it out completely. Perhaps if the breathing soil above was cut off from its root, it wouldn’t be able to extend anymore.

Shen Gun had also gotten up. The mountain gall adhering to his palm was only half its original size now. The vertical line hadn’t broken yet, but the frantically growing breathing soil had almost blocked the hole completely.

He picked up his flamethrower but didn’t press the trigger: Jiang Lian’s current assault was enough to suppress the breathing soil, so there was no need for him to waste fuel by adding another flame.

A canister of fuel was quickly depleted. Jiang Lian, breathing heavily, looked toward that spot.

Those ferocious pointed tendrils had disappeared, and the column had been burned through, its broken end charred black.

Was this… enough? Or would it return later?

Jiang Lian hadn’t even caught his breath when the charred area began to squirm. Newer, glowing sand particles, like new sprouts breaking through soil, pushed open the charred layer and rapidly grew upward.

He cursed under his breath and reached for his flamethrower, only to remember that it was empty. In that brief hesitation, over a dozen pointed tendrils split out again.

Shen Gun quickly moved up to help, but he wasn’t cut out for combat situations. His movements were clumsy. When he sprayed, flames did come out, but his aim was far off the mark.

Anxious, Jiang Lian snatched the flamethrower from his hands, drawing a semicircular arc in the air. The flames spread out like a fan.

Fearing the fuel wouldn’t be enough, Shen Gun called out: “Use it sparingly!”

Jiang Lian was already at his wits’ end: who wouldn’t want to be sparing if they could!

The fuel canister was noticeably lighter, yet those pointed tendrils, though repelled, kept returning. Jiang Lian struggled to defend, and whether from heat or anxiety, his forehead was covered in sweat.

At one moment, he suddenly noticed that when those pointed tendrils avoided the flames, they also seemed to… avoid the phoenix feather.

A thought flashed through his mind like electricity.

—The breathing soil fears fire, the phoenix is a divine bird of fire nature, and the phoenix feather can be ignited.

Ordinary fire couldn’t extinguish the breathing soil, but what about fire ignited by the phoenix feather?

As more pointed tendrils attacked, Jiang Lian quickly pressed the trigger to block them with flames, then turned to shout at Shen Gun: “Quick! I’ll cover you—light the phoenix feather!”

Shen Gun couldn’t quite understand what he meant, but he grasped the literal meaning. He stumbled forward a couple of steps and fumbled in his bag for a plate lighter, clicking it to try to light it.

Meanwhile, Jiang Lian was barely holding on. With just a little fuel left, the flames grew weaker and weaker due to insufficient gas, making him increasingly anxious. Just as he was about to ask Shen Gun if he was done, he heard Shen Gun’s mournful cry from behind: “I can’t light it!”

Damn it, what can I rely on you for? You can’t even do this simple task—it’s just lighting a fire!

Seeing the pointed tendrils approaching again, Jiang Lian thought quickly in his desperate state. He threw the empty flamethrower at the tendrils, then turned and ran swiftly toward Shen Gun. As he got close, he grabbed the lighter with one sweeping motion, pressed out a flame, and simultaneously ducked down, passing under the floating circle of phoenix feathers.

He couldn’t see it himself, but this move was extremely dangerous: as soon as the lighter flame appeared, it was as if it were drawn to the phoenix feather. At the same time, two pointed tendrils had already reached the back of his head, while he was ducking under the phoenix feather.

If any part had been delayed by even one or two seconds, blood would have splattered on the spot with a very different outcome.

As for those two pointed tendrils, which were about to pierce Jiang Lian’s skull, when he ducked down, what was exposed was the phoenix feather flame. By the time they tried to retreat, it was too late to withdraw. They pierced directly into the feather flame.

In an instant, the situation dramatically reversed. Jiang Lian saw that the subsequent breathing soil, whether going upward or coming from below, was all drawn in as if unable to escape, continuously being absorbed. Strangely enough, upon entering the flame, it instantly vanished, as if that small flame could devour vast expanses of sand and soil.

It seemed this move had been the right one.

Seeing the breathing soil consumed as soon as it appeared, Jiang Lian let out a long sigh of relief. Only then did he remember to scold Shen Gun: “You almost got me killed! Can’t you light a fire properly?”

Shen Gun’s mind was in chaos, and he instinctively defended himself: “No, Little Lian Lian, I really couldn’t light it just now.”

Jiang Lian replied irritably: “Blaming the lighter? The mountain ghosts provided high-altitude specialty lighters. We tested all the equipment; there wouldn’t be such a basic failure. You say you couldn’t light it? Qianzi has lit the phoenix feather before, I’ve done it too, and only you couldn’t?”

Shen Gun truly didn’t know what to say: it wasn’t an equipment issue. At the time, he had pressed the lighter, but the phoenix feather simply wouldn’t catch fire. No matter how the flame licked at it, it wouldn’t ignite. But when Jiang Lian came over and just brought the flame up to it, the phoenix feather caught fire immediately.

Why? Why couldn’t he light it? Why could Jiang Lian?

Jiang Lian noticed something off about Shen Gun’s expression, and a strange feeling rose in his heart as well. He asked: “What’s wrong? You…”

Before he could finish, there was a bursting sound. Jiang Lian felt a swift, cold line flash across his face. A second later, he realized that the ice dragon sculpture had been shattered by rocks falling from above, and what had just passed his face must have been flying ice shards.

He touched his face—it was bleeding.

Jiang Lian looked up: what did this mean? Were things falling from above?

Theoretically, the mountain intestine absorbed sound, so most sounds couldn’t be heard. However, this wasn’t within the range of the mountain’s intestine, and the sound coming from above was too loud—a rumbling like rolling thunder that even caused the walls to tremble.

Could the mountain be collapsing?

More small rocks began to fall. Even small rocks falling from a great height could be lethal. Jiang Lian quickly gathered the dragon bones from the ground and pulled Shen Gun close to the base of the mountain wall.

The breathing soil continued to flow into the phoenix feather flame.

The mountain gall in Shen Gun’s palm grew smaller and smaller. That thin, luminescent white line of mountain gall stretched across the stone platform, into the hole, and descended into the vast but knowable depths.

Shen Gun stopped watching the mountain gall. His mind was still circling that question: Why could Jiang Lian light it? Why couldn’t he?

He felt he was just a bit short, just a little bit, of figuring out the reason.

Jiang Lian adjusted his wolf-eye flashlight to maximum brightness and continuously scanned the heights.

As he scanned, his expression changed. In his eyes was reflected a massive mountain intestine sliding down the mountain wall.

Two words flashed through his mind.

—It’s over.

When the breathing soil suddenly withdrew completely, Meng Qianzi thought the crisis was over.

But it wasn’t. The prior grasping and pulling by the breathing soil had already destroyed parts of the mountain’s intestine. The balance couldn’t be maintained. Even though the breathing soil had disappeared, breaking sounds still occasionally came through.

Sometimes from above, sometimes from below, sometimes muffled and distant, sometimes seemingly right at one’s elbow. In short, each sound made one’s hair stand on end.

Later, there was a brief silence. Everyone thought they had finally survived this ordeal, but this silence was merely the prelude to collapse.

A world-shattering moment—the great collapse began. Like a pot of chaotic porridge, like a shovel stirring randomly. Meng Qianzi couldn’t see the situation outside. She only vaguely knew that more than one mountain intestine was breaking and falling downward.

If all of these fell in one go, whatever was below, no matter what it was, would be reduced to powder and paste.

Fortunately—and luckily—precisely because multiple intestines were falling simultaneously, each one massive and twisted, in their crowding, quite a few were caught by the mountain walls at both ends, stopping mid-fall.

Unfortunately, two or three still plummeted down, and Meng Qianzi’s was one of them.

Despite their prior preparations, with people either tied with ropes or securing themselves with knives, the violent shaking still caused two or three mountain dwellers to lose their grip. Even though they were connected to others by ropes around their waists, they still bounced around inside the intestinal passage.

However, there was still a bit of luck remaining. The walls of this deep hole were very rough and uneven, and this mountain intestine was longer than the diameter of the deep hole. After falling vertically for a while, it transitioned to intermittent horizontal lodging—like a falling steel pipe, continuously dropping and sliding, but repeatedly being caught by protruding rocks, descending in fits and starts.

Meng Qianzi held tightly to a protrusion in the intestine wall. Her whole body was tossed and bumped so violently that she nearly vomited. Her palms were rubbed raw. Just as she was hoping for some luck—that the mountain intestine would be caught by a larger wall protrusion—a huge impact came, and she lost her grip, flying straight toward the exit of the mountain intestine.

She wasn’t the only one. On this journey, almost everyone lost their hold. Suddenly, screams arose from all directions, and the sound of knife tips and mountain walls grinding against each other was incessant.

Working together, everyone barely managed to stop before sliding out the exit. Two people were badly injured, with blood all over their heads and faces. Meng Qianzi’s leg was injured again, causing excruciating pain, but she still first leaned out to look.

Coincidentally, as she looked out, a flashlight beam from below shone upward, though it didn’t catch her. Seeing the flashlight beam moving, Meng Qianzi’s heart skipped a beat. Without thinking, she called out: “Jiang Lian?”

The one holding the flashlight was indeed Jiang Lian.

Hearing Meng Qianzi’s voice, he was overjoyed but also felt his scalp tingle. He rapidly moved the flashlight beam until he finally located her position.

Only then did Meng Qianzi see the situation below.

Half of the stone platform where Jiang Lian stood had been destroyed: one mountain intestine had crashed onto the stone platform, directly collapsing that section. But due to this immense resistance, it had also stopped.

Her mountain intestine arrived later and was blocked by this one. The big impact they had just felt came from this collision.

After the impact, the intestine below hadn’t fallen, so naturally, hers also remained suspended, like a collapsing high-rise building where, due to too many beams and columns supporting each other, they formed a canopy above the stone platform, preventing its complete destruction.

Following this supporting structure, she could descend to the stone platform.

Jiang Lian also realized that a path had formed between Meng Qianzi and the stone platform. He urgently reminded her: “Qianzi, don’t come down. Stay away from here.”

Meng Qianzi acknowledged. Only then did she notice the phoenix feather flame floating beside Jiang Lian. By now, the breathing soil was almost entirely consumed, and with nothing left to burn, the flame was diminishing. Not knowing the cause and effect, Meng Qianzi assumed the box burning had begun: “Are you… Already burning it?”

Her question reminded Jiang Lian.

He turned to look. The breathing soil was indeed burned out, but there remained a palm-sized, constantly leaping, strange sandy soil gradually sinking from mid-air. Shen Gun realized: “This should be the breathing soil core. It’s one becoming many—all breathing soil originates from it.”

This could only be burned once inside the box. Shen Gun quickly opened the box, positioning the opening toward where the breathing soil core was sinking. Once it entered the box, he hastily closed it, as if afraid it might escape.

Good, the breathing soil was also in the box. Now all that remained was…

Shen Gun looked down at his palm.

The mountain gall was gone; only a luminescent white thread stubbornly adhered there.

The mountain gall had been fully released. Below, it should have begun, right?

Shen Gun’s throat went dry. He hardly dared breathe, just staring fixedly at the small dot still sticking to his palm.

After an indeterminable time, the thread quivered slightly.

The backflow had begun. The released mountain gall was coming back.

His Adam’s apple bobbed as he murmured: “Is this… the end?”

No answer was needed.

A tremendous shockwave rumbled upward from below. To call it “tremendous,” “shockwave,” or “rumbling” was merely human perception: in reality, not even a breeze had stirred, and the sand grains on the ground hadn’t rolled an inch.

But the feeling was different. A cool, painful throbbing spread through the skull, as if wind were passing through the brain.

Soon, countless visions appeared before Shen Gun’s eyes.

—He saw an ancient battlefield, two armies facing each other, fierce mountain beasts passing through.

—He saw the hanging gall peaks forest in western Hunan, the mouth of a huge celestial pit, countless vines growing along the pulled ropes as if they had lives of their own.

—He saw Dragon-Subduing Mountain in Guangxi, someone standing at the cliff edge, scattering dragon bone ashes. Wind rose, and dragons followed. The scattered ashes rode the wind, stretching into dragon shapes in mid-air, with clouds gathering and dispersing around them—a magnificent sight.

…

Shen Gun suddenly understood: with the water spirit neutralized, the souls had lost their refuge. Numerous spiritual entities were released simultaneously, causing nearby people’s consciousness to be impacted and disturbed. What he was seeing now were experiences and sights that “they” had once witnessed.

This disturbance was so strong that even the group over ten meters above the stone platform felt it.

Meng Qianzi also saw countless strange scenes, like film strips cycling: a giant crocodile swallowing a water spirit, sinking into a lake in an underground cave; an insignificant craftsman being beheaded, his head rolling on the ground; Shen Gun holding a box…

No, that wasn’t Shen Gun—it was Peng Yi.

His entire body was bleeding. This was the typical twelve cuts of blood symbol writing. He held a box, but his dirty clothes covered most of it.

Meng Qianzi saw his hand gesture. This was one of the lost nine uses of the golden bell.

Activating the celestial ladder.

Shen Gun shook his head vigorously.

In his palm, the mountain gall had returned. Not just the mountain gall—embedded in the white gall body was a black, lustrous section, tightly wrapped and immobilized.

This must be the water spirit. According to the water ghosts, there was a funnel pool formed by the water spirit in the Shifting Cave, large enough to drown Dingpan Ridge—but the box was only this big, how could it possibly hold so much water spirit?

It seemed that, like the breathing soil’s power, the water spirit could also multiply from one. But it didn’t matter; this water spirit core was restrained—truly “restrained.” Mountain gall restraining water spirit was this kind of “clamping” method.

Shen Gun’s throat emitted a voice trembling with excitement: “It’s complete! We can burn it now!”

To prevent any further complications, he quickly opened the box, placed both the mountain gall and water spirit inside, gathered the dragon bones, placed the box on the pile of dragon bones, and then reached for a phoenix feather. Forgetting his previous failure, he pressed the lighter forcefully.

Perhaps due to his excitement, whereas last time he had at least produced a flame, this time his hand shook, and after pressing twice, no flame appeared.

Beside him, Jiang Lian expressed his disdain: “Can you manage anything at all?”

Saying this, he grabbed the lighter. With just a light press, a flame leapt onto the feather.

That phoenix feather almost instantly ignited the dragon bones, and those feathers floating in mid-air seemed to have a spirit of their own, all sinking down, like splendid tail feathers entering the flame, flowing with light and turning beautifully.

Jiang Lian smiled at Shen Gun, his young face full of teasing triumph: “You need to steady your hand. Haven’t you eaten enough?”

That strange, ominous feeling came again.

Shen Gun’s mouth was half-open as he watched the dragon bones burning the box, watched Jiang Lian’s smile, and watched an entrance gradually appearing on the mountain wall behind Jiang Lian. That entrance was like a vertically elongated eye, opening, then opening further. It was impossible to see what was inside—just pure blackness, a complete void.

Two phrases suddenly popped into Shen Gun’s mind.

—From the phoenix’s right eye, a living phoenix will fly out.

—Phoenix bathes in fire, and dragon bones burn the box.

Back then, no phoenix had flown out from the phoenix eye, but both Jiang Lian and Meng Qianzi had emerged from the water covered in phoenix feathers, thinking boldly, what if those actively chosen and adhered to by the phoenix feathers were all “phoenixes”?

The underwater cave that hid the phoenix feather was blocked by a water stopper. Zong Hang had said that living people shouldn’t rashly enter a water stopper; they’d likely be trapped inside unless there was great force pulling them out.

Meng Qianzi had been pulled in by great force—this force came from the phoenix feather. The phoenix feather, confined there, longed for someone to take it out—a living phoenix flying out.

Later, Jiang Lian was also pulled in because Meng Qianzi had lost too much blood and was near death. The phoenix feather needed to find a new candidate.

Thinking back, from what he knew, each opening of the celestial ladder had taken someone, whether entering alive or dead.

Peng Yi likely entered the celestial ladder alive.

Miss Duan died near the celestial ladder.

Why, when he first saw that box, did he feel heavy, oppressed, unable to breathe?

Peng Yi’s oral message had perhaps concealed this: the activation of the celestial ladder would be accompanied by sacrifice.

He couldn’t light the phoenix feather, not because his hand was unsteady, but because the phoenix feather hadn’t been brought out by him. He wasn’t the “phoenix” chosen by the phoenix feather.

Phoenix bathes in fire—opening the celestial ladder through “sacrificing the phoenix feather, burning the dragon bones” required the sacrifice of a “phoenix.”

…

Shen Gun suddenly raised his head and shouted: “Little Lian Lian, run quickly!”

Huh?

This sudden shout completely stunned Jiang Lian, but he didn’t ask further questions. Shen Gun’s deathly pale face was explanation enough.

Jiang Lian froze for two seconds, then suddenly felt an urgent sense that time was running out. Without thinking, he ran.

In just a few steps, he scrambled onto the mountain’s intestine, rushing straight toward Meng Qianzi.

Meng Qianzi had been looking down all along. Suddenly hearing Shen Gun tell Jiang Lian to “run quickly,” she was equally confused. But for some reason, seeing Jiang Lian running frantically, she also felt her hands and feet go cold, and she instinctively wanted to reach out.

Her waist suddenly tightened—she had almost forgotten she was still tied with a rope.

She reached to untie it, but her fingers trembled too badly. She could only cut the rope with a knife. Jiang Lian was still climbing upward. The dragon bones were completely burned, and the ashes and remaining fire were drawn in, spiraling into the entrance.

That pulling force grew stronger. A fierce wind stirred up ice shards and dust from the ground, gradually forming a vortex behind Jiang Lian.

Soon, Jiang Lian could no longer climb up. The pulling force of the gale was too strong. His clothes billowed, and his hair began to pull at his scalp.

Just as Meng Qianzi was about to rush down, Meng Jinsong grabbed her arm: “Qianzi, you can’t go down! You’ll die there!”

At this point, who still cared about that damned prophecy? Meng Qianzi shouted: “Then die it is!”

She pushed Meng Jinsong away and tumbled downward. Seeing no alternative but recognizing Jiang Lian’s imminent danger, Meng Jinsong quickly snatched a bundle of rope from a nearby mountain dweller and threw it down to Meng Qianzi: “Qianzi, find a way to tie him to a rock!”

Without looking back, Meng Qianzi caught the rope with an outstretched hand and stumbled toward Jiang Lian. Even from a distance, she could see that the rock Jiang Lian was holding onto was too small to be useful, and there were no other protruding rocks nearby that could provide leverage.

Her mind was pounding. Remembering she had just passed a suitable spot, she hurried back to tie the rope, and after ensuring it was secure, she rushed back toward Jiang Lian with the rope end.

It was too late. Just as she approached, Jiang Lian could no longer hold on and let go, his body instantly airborne.

In that critical moment, Meng Qianzi used all her strength to lunge forward, while simultaneously twisting her arm around the rope.

Fortunately, this lunge caught Jiang Lian. Almost reflexively, Meng Qianzi embraced him. But the pulling force was extremely strong. As soon as she held him, they were both drawn toward the entrance by the powerful vortex, but halfway there, they suddenly stopped—the rope had worked, stretching to its limit like a bowstring, holding them back.

From above, Meng Jinsong led people rushing down, all wanting to grab the rope.

On the stone platform, Shen Gun was ashen-faced. A thought suddenly struck him: Let me go instead! Let me replace Little Lian Lian!

With that thought, he hesitated no longer and charged toward the entrance. But when he got close, he couldn’t enter—his entire body felt stuck in cotton, like pushing against an air cushion, unable to get in no matter how hard he tried.

Shen Gun shouted in desperation: “Open the door! Isn’t it acceptable to replace him? Open the door!”

In mid-air, Meng Qianzi’s long hair was disheveled by the wind. Jiang Lian looked down to see the rope circles deeply embedded in her arms. His eyes burning, he said: “Qianzi, let go.”

Meng Qianzi just kept shaking her head. Just as she was about to say something, there was a sudden loosening behind her.

The rope had broken!

At that moment, the mountain dwellers had just rushed to the scene. Meng Jinsong, in the lead, gave a great shout and grabbed the rope. The people behind piled on one after another, like a clustered human ball, all reaching to hold them, barely managing to stop the two for a second or two. But soon, they were all being drawn inch by inch toward the entrance.

Jiang Lian’s mind was crystal clear. He knew that if this continued, everyone would perish together. He tightly embraced Meng Qianzi, lowered his head to press hard against her lips, and said: “Qianzi, I will love you forever.”

At the same time, his hands firmly gripped her arms and pushed her away with force.

Meng Qianzi screamed. When she looked up, Jiang Lian, like a kite with its string cut, rapidly receded from her vision, and the black entrance began to revert to its original form as a mountain wall.

She fell heavily to the ground.

The fall made stars dance before her eyes, but she had no time to care about that. She quickly got up and, with a hoarse voice, rushed to the mountain wall.

Too late—the entrance was gone, and Jiang Lian was gone. That spot now contained only the cold, rough stone wall.

But not just that. On the mountain wall was a slightly protruding human figure—that of Jiang Lian.

Perhaps because the entrance closed too quickly, it had imprinted his final expression as he looked back at her.

Just like when they first met.

In his final moment, he was still smiling at her.

(End of Volume Nine)