Wen Yan rubbed his head, feeling a headache. He truly couldn't figure out what identity Fake Mo Zhicheng now had. After this guy changed his job to become a True Architect, his abilities were just too absurd. People who were already dead, whose bodies had been cremated, whose souls had turned into little ghosts and had completely dissipated, could still be forcefully revived by him.
Even if it was just for a few seconds, time wasn't the point. The point was the difference between what could be done and what couldn't. Between them lay a chasm as vast as the heavens and earth—the divide between life and death, the world's largest and most insurmountable gulf.
Once you could cross it, thinking about what came next, like how to extend the time, was far easier than crossing that gulf by many orders of magnitude.
Looking at Fake Mo Zhicheng, who seemed to have aged at least twenty years, Wen Yan understood that even for Fake Mo Zhicheng, forcing this matter now was too much of a strain.
