But in this so-called Eighteen Levels of Hell, the air is filled with three colors of Taoism, with white, gold and purple entangled with each other in extreme harmony.
"That's right, the three-color Dao rhyme."
Lu Sheng walked inside.
Song Mingdao was confused: "This place is full of Dao rhyme, why do you still want to use the Dao rhyme of Lu Henge?"
to be honest.
The Eighteen Levels of Hell were filled with the rhythm of Taoism, which was completely beyond Song Mingdao's expectations. In his imagination, this place should be full of broken souls and filled with painful and desperate wails.
The eighteen levels of hell in front of us are more suitable for cultivation than the fairyland. In comparison, the fairyland is much inferior.
Lu Sheng raised her hand and scooped up the Dao rhyme in the air. The three-colored Dao rhyme flowed up and down in her hand, like substance. This level of Dao rhyme was already thick to an exaggerated degree.
If you throw a mortal here, within a hundred years, his physique will be transformed into a supreme physique for cultivating immortals.
If Song Mingdao had practiced here for a few hundred years, or even just a few decades, he would have had a great chance of breaking through to the Half-Step Immortal Emperor realm and becoming a true Immortal Emperor.
Lu Sheng looked at the three-colored Dao rhymes in the air, his eyes full of contempt and disgust: "Because these three-colored Dao rhymes are dead and useless."
Dead?
Song Mingdao didn't understand what he meant.
What does the Dao rhyme of death mean?
Lu Sheng said softly, "This is a place of suffering for the soul. Since it is suffering, it is absolutely impossible to create such a comfortable environment for them. Everything in front of us is fake."
"That's not quite right. It's half true and half false."
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