Qin Ming gazed at the golden silk parasol, pondering the trust between people and objects.
Originally, it bore visible imprints of skill chains and Tao chains from Yujing, complex and profound, but now they were virtually gone.
It was like a tattooed woman who suddenly "washed away her embellishments," becoming clean and elegant.
The golden silk parasol broke not the inherent laws it birthed, but rather external shackles.
Qin Ming felt deceived, worrying needlessly over it.
He sighed, "True feelings flow away; what's the use of keeping this Tao seed from the Parasitic Civilization? It's better not to have it. Grind it up, feed it to the dogs, or return it to the grand world."
As he spoke, he began to break down the third Dao seed, stomping and slapping it, causing its spirit blood to spill everywhere.
