One night.
When the morning star appeared on the horizon, Mi Jia, who was sitting cross-legged on the peak of the mountain, slowly opened her eyes.
A gust of cold wind blew past, and he actually felt a little cold.
Cold?
He had already forgotten how many years it had been since he had experienced such a feeling of cold.
Possessing the body of a quasi-emperor, even if he fell into extreme ice, he would not feel cold. However, at this moment, he felt a chill.
Sunlight shone through the thick layer of clouds, like a heavy gauze, enveloping his body.
It was as if he was putting on a robe for Mi Jia.
Standing up from the peak of the mountain, Mi Jia raised her hand. She felt that her body was a little heavy. The cultivation that had accompanied her for hundreds of thousands of years was completely cut off by her three strikes last night.
At this moment, even her primordial spirit felt a little chaotic.
