"Before anything else," Sunny said, his voice echoing softly in the vastness of the Throne Room, "let me solve the most pressing problem."
He raised his gloved hand, palm facing the withered, dying form of Cai Zhen.
The air in the Throne Room grew heavy. As suddenly a new energy made it way into the throne room.
Sunny wasn't just manifesting Qi into the old Cultivator. He was reaching into his memories of the Great War, pulling out the specific energy signature he had witnessed a million years ago.
He wove his mana into a golden mist.
Ancient Qi.
It was the breath of the multiverse before it had been diluted by eons of consumption. It was pure, potent, and overwhelmingly dense.
The moment the golden mist touched Cai Zhen's gray skin, a violent shudder ran through the old man's body.
Crackle. Pop.
The sound of bones realigning echoed in the silence.
