Mysterious mirror hanging high

Zhao Lang shuddered, then looked around at everyone. Those whose gazes fell upon him all instinctively looked away. Finally, he looked at Guo Tingshu:

"Fellow Daoist Guo, you..."

Guo Tingshu was about to take something out of his storage bag when Jing Yu grabbed his wrist and scolded him:

"You big silly tree, worry about yourself first! Can't you hear what he's thinking?"

Guo Tingshu opened his mouth, but ultimately didn't speak, and sighed.

Seeing that no one was there to help him, Zhao Lang turned pale and finally staggered back to a distance, where he curled up alone.

Let's rest here for a while.

Jian Yunyuan spoke with difficulty.

He was still pondering Jing Yu's earlier words.

Sword cultivators should have no regrets.

One should especially not regret drawing the sword.

He regrets it now, but after regretting it, should he draw his sword again next time?

Jian Yunyuan felt a splitting headache and couldn't sort out his thoughts for a moment.

He automatically released his eight natal swords, forming a sword array to protect himself. Then he flicked the pill in his hand into his mouth, finally putting aside his distracting thoughts and focusing on restoring his true energy.

After several cycles of circulation, the true essence consumed in the previous battle was fully replenished, and the spirit and energy returned to their peak.

Jian Yunyuan slowly opened his eyes, a hint of sword intent flickering within them, before regaining his usual composure.

He got up and habitually scanned his surroundings with his divine sense to ensure his safety.

However, the scene that his divine sense returned startled him slightly.

Not far away, the group of geniuses who had been resting separately suddenly gathered together, forming a somewhat irregular circle.

No one spoke; the atmosphere was eerily quiet, a stark contrast to the usual scene of the Void Demons meditating or whispering after they retreated.

Jian Yunyuan's heart skipped a beat, and an ominous premonition quietly rose within him.

He strode over, his pace quickening unconsciously. The crowd, sensing his approach, silently parted to make way for him.

Pushing aside the last few people, the scene at the center of the circle came into view.

Zhao Lang.

Zhao Lang, who had been weeping and begging for medicine in front of him not long ago, was now lying motionless on the cold, gray-black ground.

His eyes were wide open, but his pupils were completely dilated and devoid of any light, staring blankly at the eternally silent, dark sky above.

His face still bore the distorted expression of despair, resentment, and a strange sense of relief from those final moments.

His body had no obvious external injuries, and even his breath still carried a trace of lingering warmth, but the radiance of his life had been completely extinguished, and the fluctuations of his soul had disappeared without a trace, leaving only a body that was rapidly cooling down.

He lay there quietly, in this lifeless wasteland, like a worthless stone that had been carelessly discarded.

"What happened?" Jian Yunyuan's voice was a little hoarse. He heard himself ask this question, but he couldn't take his eyes off Zhao Lang's frozen face.

A prodigy from the Golden Immortal lineage next to him swallowed hard and replied in a low voice, "Shortly after Fellow Daoist Jian entered meditation, Fellow Daoist Zhao... he sat there alone and didn't move at all."

“At first we didn’t pay much attention, thinking he was just… feeling down. Later, after about an incense stick’s time, someone noticed something was wrong with his breathing and went over to check…”

The prodigy's voice grew softer and softer: "That's how he is... his sea of ​​consciousness... has completely shattered."

"It was my own... shattered sea of ​​consciousness, with no trace of outsiders' intervention."

Self-destruction of one's consciousness.

Their souls and spirits were annihilated.

Jian Yunyuan stood frozen in place, his body seemingly stiff.

For some reason, aside from the shock in his heart, Jian Yunyuan's first reaction was a sense of relief.

Zhao Lang is dead, but from now on Jian Yunyuan will no longer have to suffer the torment of inner conflict.

The ease that came so naturally, yet so despicable, sent a chill down Jian Yunyuan's spine.

"Bury him." Jing Yu was quite calm. He said, "Dust to dust, ashes to ashes. Since he has fallen here, let's bury him on the spot."

At this moment, several prodigies looked grim. They abruptly stood up, and one of them took the lead and said:

"Fellow Daoist Xuanjing, Fellow Daoist Jian! Our supplies are running low! Although we are not as badly off as Fellow Daoist Zhao, we estimate that we can only last for a hundred years at most!"

"Fellow Daoist Zhao is the first to die here; one of us could be next!"

The man gritted his teeth and said, "We can't go on like this! We're wasting time!"

Jing Yu countered, "What else can we do besides waste time?"

"The Ruins of Guixu are far larger than we imagined! If we gather together and explore slowly like this, how long will it take us to find out?"

That day, the arrogant one said, "Since the [Void Demon] appears in a strictly one-on-one manner... why don't we, a hundred or so cultivators, simply disperse and explore in different directions simultaneously? This way, the exploration efficiency will be a hundred times higher than before! We should have done this a long time ago!"

Yue Xingzhou stepped forward at this moment and said in a deep voice, "You should know why you can't do this."

"Dividing the troops can indeed improve efficiency, but once hundreds of cultivators are completely scattered... do you think a Golden Immortal lineage disciple like yourself will survive?"

The genius who suggested splitting the troops turned deathly pale instantly, clearly understanding Yue Xingzhou's unspoken meaning.

Yue Xingzhou stood tall and straight, his eyes sweeping over all the geniuses present, especially those cultivators from the Golden Immortal lineage whose faces now showed fear. His voice was low and deep:

"When we get together, there's at least an unwritten rule. With Fellow Daoist Jian and Fellow Daoist Xuanjing keeping things in order, no one dares to act recklessly. If the Void Demon comes, we can also look out for each other."

He paused, his gaze sharpening: "But once the troops are divided and completely scattered, each fighting their own battles... hey! At that point, with the emperor far away, who knows what might happen?"

He stretched out his large, fan-like hand and pointed at the Golden Immortal disciples whose auras were clearly weakened and whose faces showed unease: "How did Zhao Lang die? He wasn't killed by the Void Demon. He ran out of pills, saw no hope, and committed suicide! What does this show? It shows that supplies are life! More precious than life itself!"

"When a cultivator who is out of ammunition and food, and is about to follow in Fellow Daoist Zhao's footsteps, encounters another cultivator who still has a surplus of pills, but whose cultivation level and combat strength may be inferior to his own... what do you think he will do?"

Yue Xingzhou's voice was not loud, but every word was piercing: "Is it better to just wait to die slowly, or... to go all the way, kill the other party, take his pills, and prolong your own life?"

This possibility has been considered by many, but no one has dared to openly and blatantly point it out.

A century of repression, dwindling resources, and growing despair have changed the hearts of people who were no longer the same when they first arrived here.

Even a sword prodigy like Jian Yunyuan, with his clear understanding of swordsmanship, would hesitate and falter, let alone ordinary prodigies.