In the Black Mist World.
Wang Mang was like a statue, sitting motionless above the black fog.
In his eyes, the usual brilliance had faded, replaced by a hint of murkiness.
The next moment, a silver light flashed on Wang Mang's right arm, and his entire being was suddenly covered by the phantom of a clock.
Thud! Thud! Thud...
The ancient and weighty sound of the clock chimed leisurely, echoing vaguely in the world filled with black fog.
Such a scene had repeated countless times over the past hundred years.
Wrapped in the threads of time, Wang Mang slowly lifted his right hand.
He glanced at his arm and then at the eternal black mist, but there was no ripple in Wang Mang's eyes.
"System, is this what you called 'the time has not yet come'?"
Wang Mang spoke in a helpless whisper.
If it had been before, he definitely would not have this attitude.
But time had worn away Wang Mang's patience.
