Late at night, Zhang Fan lay on the bed of his hotel room. The faint moonlight seeped through the sheer curtains, falling upon him, while Li Miaoyin's words echoed repeatedly in his mind.
"Pure Yang Treasure, Zhenwu Jade Scroll!"
Zhang Fan touched his chest, where there lingered a faint mark, an arc like a heavenly scar, cradling a perfect circle, suffused with a dim golden radiance.
Zhang Fan knew how immeasurably important the Zhenwu Jade Scroll was, but he never imagined that it was actually the Pure Yang Treasure of Zhenwu Mountain.
Ever since he suffered tribulation on Zhenwu Mountain and, by a twist of fate, fused with the Zhenwu Jade Scroll, this thing had never displayed any further phenomena—there wasn't even the slightest reaction.
Li Miaoyin said, "A divine artifact conceals itself; only those with fate may obtain it."
