"If one's cultivation level is not high enough, will spatial turbulence be irresistible?"
"It can be resisted. If it is above the Foundation Establishment stage, the blood of the nine clans of the alien species, the prayers of the powerful, etc. can all resist it. But if you want to save the life of a Qi Refining cultivator, you must have the roar of dragons, the chant of phoenixes, and the language of unicorns."
The memory barely flashed through Luo Jiujiang's mind before he was swept away into a darkness like a rag. The current swirled more gently than before, and even now, caught up in it, he couldn't believe it was the legendary spatial turbulence. But the next moment, he witnessed the bloodless killing here: in a breath, a large piece of Luo Jiujiang's robe, along with his belt, vanished silently, leaving not even a speck of dust.
Luo Jiujiang had no doubt that if his arm had been caught by the turbulent flow just now, his arm would have been swallowed up completely without even a drop of blood left.
The storage bag his elder brother had given him was still tied to his belt, and naturally, it disappeared along with the corner of his robe. Luo Jiujiang didn't even have time to grieve. Although his naked eyes couldn't see anything, his perception was like a thousand drums beating simultaneously, frantically reminding him of the approaching crisis. As expected, the next moment, he felt a chill on his left wrist, and the red line on his wrist suddenly broke.
The conch tied with red thread did not follow the same fate as Luo Jiujiang's belt. Before being sucked into the huge force, a long whistle came from the conch.
The voice was solemn and menacing, yet clear and pure, like a young boy's. The turbulent current that had enveloped Luo Jiujiang like a tide receded in an instant, and this voice embraced Luo Jiujiang instead, like a person clinging to his back, like a pair of hands clasped around his waist. This force pulled Luo Jiujiang out of his current precarious situation and gently pushed him in a safe direction.
—Take good care of the conch shell I gave you… There is a song I left behind.
The man's words from the past seemed to ring in my ears again.
Luo Jiujiang had listened to the Mingyin conch many times before, trying it in the wind and water, and even roasting it over a fire. But he had never imagined that Han Qianling would leave him a song that could only be heard in the turbulence of space, a song that he could only use to protect.
It turns out that the sound of a dragon's roar is actually clearer than a phoenix's cry.
The dragon roared, using up its last bit of strength, pushing Luo Jiujiang to a luminous surface. The word "boundary membrane" flashed through Luo Jiujiang's mind, and he lunged forward, falling into a completely new world.
The conscientious Mingyin conch, along with the red line, shattered silently outside the boundary membrane and turned into a handful of fine dust.
Luo Jiujiang raised his head, and a whole new world unfolded before his eyes, all in dazzling silver-white.
Countless snowflakes drifted slowly down from the gray sky. Having narrowly escaped death, Luo Jiujiang's knees buckled, and he fell into the soft, white snow. A chill instantly enveloped his entire body. The wounds he had sustained from the swirling sand and gravel before being caught in the turbulence were now piercingly painful.
Today's events were so complex and thrilling that Luo Jiujiang still couldn't quite wrap his head around them. Du Chuan's sudden attack, Han Qianling's sudden transformation into a dragon, an adventure in the turbulent flow of nothingness, and the shattered jade pendant and conch shell...
What happened to Qianling? Is he okay after breaking into the secret realm? Did the drastic changes in the secret realm endanger the Seven Islands? Did the young men who entered the secret realm with him survive? What kind of world is he in now? Is there a way to let his parents and master know he's still alive? Did he just leave the Seven Islands like that? It doesn't feel real anymore.
A long list of questions rushed into Luo Jiujiang's mind almost instantly, but he was in no mood to think about them.
He kept seeing Han Qianling transform into a blue dragon, soaring into the clouds. He thought of the countless bloodstains covering Han Qianling's dragon body. The devilish sound of the conch shell piercing his ears echoed in his memory. Now that he thought about it, he couldn't hear it a second time.
Luo Jiujiang held his chest and swallowed the blood rushing to his throat. A miserable smile appeared on his usually open-minded face.
"No wonder you never want to sing in front of me, Qianling. You rely on your charming voice, but you don't even realize that you're actually off-tune. Your voice is so bad it can make people cry..."
He blinked his eyes, and two plump round drops were suddenly burned away by his hot tears in the snow.
These two tears seemed to be a signal of something. For a moment, the heavy reality finally broke the light and hazy feeling. Countless problems followed one after another, making it almost suffocating.
His clothes were now tattered, the fabric on his chest ripped open by Han Qianling's claws, the right hem and belt swallowed whole by the chaotic flow of space, and the sole of his left boot had fallen off at some point, leaving only the empty boot shaft. As for the gifts from those he cherished...
The beautiful jade cracked, the red thread broke, and the spirit bag was lost. The departure of these magical instruments seemed to carry some ominous meaning, symbolizing that the love of family, friendship, and the relationship between master and disciple had all fallen through his fingers at the same time.
Luo Jiujiang turned his gaze to the vast snowfield in front of him.
The world was empty and vast, as if he was the only one left in the world.
Fate only left him with a knife.
Luo Jiujiang pulled out the black long sword that he had been holding tightly in his palm, looked at it again as if he wanted to get to know it again, then he tightened the scattered pieces of cloth on his body and strode towards the unknown road ahead.
If viewed from a distance, the gray sky and the white earth seem to merge into one, and between heaven and earth, the black of Luo Jiujiang's back and the red seeping from his feet are the only colors in the world.
He staggered across the snowy plain, carried by the cold wind and blocked by the snowflakes. But his aura remained unmoved, like a wounded lone wolf determined to walk until death, or a monument that would stand still until the end of time.
Fate also left him a knife.
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