The hollow crater where the White Dragon Sect's ancestral peak once stood remained draped in unnatural silence.
The wind had ceased to blow, choked out by the lingering devastation of the collapsed void.
High above the barren basin of pulverized bedrock, Shen Haoran stood perched upon the forehead of his spirit avatar, his pristine sleeves hanging motionless against his sides.
His golden eyes, typically as calm and impenetrable as an ancient well, were narrowed into sharp, scrutinizing slits.
How did they revive?
His mind worked with the chilling speed of a divine calculating engine, systematically reviewing every supreme scripture, forbidden manual, and esoteric chronicle preserved within the ancestral archives of the Shen Clan.
In the grand cosmos, miraculous survivals were not entirely unheard of.
There were ancient bloodline techniques that allowed a cultivator to reform their flesh from a single droplet of vital marrow.
