Zhang Jing held the Treasury of Misfortune, and slowly stepped out of the grand entrance of the secret hall of the Demon Suppressing Department.
Within his sight.
The man from before was still kneeling in front of King Li Xing's coffin, without even slightly shifting his position.
Involuntarily, his eyes flickered, and several images flashed before his mind's eye.
The vast mountain range, the Demon Suppressing Tower, the Demon Suppressing Department...
"This should be the third time. Given his deeds, he seems to be a rare soul of purity within the Nether Night Realm, and it seems that he and I share some fate."
A thought emerged in his mind.
Zhang Jing clasped a Dharma seal with a single hand, strands of mysterious, boundless Dao essence quietly diffused in the air.
Immediately after, a strange river reflection emerged from the void. It coiled and winded in mid-air, its light flickered on and off uncertainly, vaguely connecting to a powerful existence beyond perception.
