In the sky.
A five-colored halo rose from Pangu's corpse and slowly descended, enveloping Wu Xiaode.
Wu Xiaode's expression was calm, but his gaze surveyed the surroundings.
A fierce man in his twenties, covered in tattoos, chuckled and said loudly:
"Playing this game again? Aren't you tired of it yet?"
Game?
What game?
Wu Xiaode looked at him and remembered that upon entering here, his appearance would change for disguise.
—At this moment, he was a little boy about seven or eight years old.
Others around turned to glance at him, most of them turning back and focusing once more on the TV mountain before them.
Only a few approached, giggling and saying:
"Really want to play?"
Play.
Play what?
As Wu Xiaode hesitated, the five-colored halo suddenly merged into the back of his head, transforming into countless light images in his mind.
These light images connected perfectly to the continuation of the mural.
