Fusang Holy Land.
"Pfft!"
In a certain moment, the Fusang Saintess spat out a mouthful of blood, her beautiful face suddenly turning extremely ashen, with her hair dry and gray.
Even more terrifying, her vitality was being drained at an alarming speed, like a flooding river, unstoppable, swiftly leading her toward death.
The Fusang Saintess of this era quietly observed all of this.
She grieved over the waning life.
This is the path of the Fusang Saintess: when the chosen person dies, the Fusang Saintess dies too—so cruel and merciless.
No matter how glorious the future might have been, no matter how beautiful the past dreams, they all now led to an end, to death, just like generations of Fusang Saintesses before her.
How rare it is for a Fusang Saintess to achieve the rank of Empress?
Luck, talent, a twist of fate, luck... these immense challenges are no less than the hindrances faced by other Cultivators on their paths.
"Huh?"
