"You've done really well, Xiao Fu."
Fu Jian shook his head, ignoring the patronizing Wang Jixuan, and turned back to his own workbench.
Master Wang gently raised an eyebrow and picked up the communicator to start replying to the backlog of messages.
The messages were mostly from Lingtong.
She was unable to participate in this war, and understandably had some grievances, which the Daoist could only carefully soothe.
There was no other way, as the root of Lingtong's overprotection was himself.
...
Near the Spiritual Ability City, in a building set into the cliff.
Meng Jin sat in a chair, watching the continuously falling snow outside, gazing absently at the endless snowy plains.
He looked like he had aged ten years in this period, his face pale, covered with sensors, his eyes somewhat dazed.
Meng Jin attempted to lift his right hand, but his right arm trembled continuously.
He was ruined.
In every aspect.
