In the following days, Chen Li was finally able to settle down and concentrate on his cultivation.
Inside the quiet room, the air currents surged wildly, howling in gusts, occasionally punctuated by a loud explosion.
Like firecrackers going off.
The sound of the wind abruptly stopped.
Chen Li panted heavily, thrusting his sword into the muddy ground, as copious amounts of sweat streamed down his smooth, tight muscles like rivulets.
The floor of the quiet room had been originally covered with stone slabs to prevent dampness, but after countless violent stomps by Chen Li, there were no longer any traces of the stone slabs to be seen.
They had completely turned into a mixture of stone powder and mud, trampled into an extraordinarily compacted mass.
Chen Li walked over to the small table in the quiet room, picked up a pottery jar, and guzzled down salt water to replenish the salt that his body had lost.
He opened the game panel and glanced at it.
