In the corners around him, objects suffused with Spiritual Qi glimmered. These were all items he had collected over ten thousand years, now strewn about carelessly as decorations.
In a world of pure, flawless Spiritual Space, the Yuanhou Lion Dance, having taken human form, was engrossed in a book. All around his body, various manifested books lay scattered on the ground.
At this moment, the body of the One-armed Nascent Soul Cultivator, which had been relatively solid in this space, had now become somewhat ethereal. But he paid this no mind.
Time trickled by. Here, there was no day or night. The One-armed Nascent Soul felt as if a short while had passed, and yet also a very long time. He could only gauge the passage of time by the degree to which his soul-body was dissipating.
The next moment, the Old Lion's human-shaped phantom lay lazily on a pile of books. From beneath his messy, golden hair, his deep eyes stared at some distant point, lost in silent contemplation.
