The wind on Qingyun Peak's plaza seemed to carry a metallic scent of blood.

Little Douzi's piercing cries were like a red-hot iron rod, stabbing fiercely into Chen Yang's eardrums, making his very soul tremble.

Those cries were not just the agony of having his cultivation destroyed, but the utter despair of seeing his dream of immortality shattered.

How much sweat and humiliation had a servant endured to struggle to the second level of Qi refining?