Tang Xian suddenly let go, feeling an intense stabbing pain in his mind.
The baby did not fall, but floated in the vast white space, which seemed like a sea.
"Do not go to the eighth level."
This sentence was like thousands of monks hitting wooden fish and chanting at the same time.
It began to continuously bombard Tang Xian's consciousness.
But Tang Xian still clenched his teeth and asked with difficulty,
"Why? What's on the eighth level?"
"Do not go to the eighth level."
"Tell me! What's on the eighth level?"
"Do not go to the eighth level."
The usually rational Tang Xian began to grow somewhat frantic, his eyes bloodshot.
He glared fiercely at the baby.
"Do not go to the eighth level."
The voices still swirled in Tang Xian's mind.
But gradually, the many scattered, fragment-like voices began to coalesce into one grand voice.
"Do not go to the eighth level, unless you are ready."
The stabbing pain in his mind gradually faded away.
