The Shariputra finally shattered.
Wang Linchi saw a phantom; it was a very young monk. He wondered how the monk had managed to stay alone in such a desolate world for so long without going insane. Perhaps he had an unwavering will, or something to rely on.
However, Wang Linchi wasn't concerned about these things. Right now, he was dealing with the Devil's body...
A wisp of black smoke, about the size of a pinky finger, was on the verge of dispersing. A mere gust of wind could scatter it completely. Without his intervention, it would completely dissipate within ten minutes at most.
Otherwise, how could the monk's residual soul, the lingering spirit within the Shariputra, have faded so completely on its own? Naturally, it was because the Devil was no longer a threat, so its survival didn't matter. The monk indeed hadn't expected Wang Linchi to be able to preserve the Devil's body.
