The Origin of the Demonic Sword
Death! Cold and endless, the surroundings lost all warmth, as if in a dimensionless void of eternal darkness. Zhu Youji saw his body once again—or rather, his still-beating heart, his bi-colored bones, and the dragon-like souls of his true qi.
As a frequent visitor to death, Zhu Youji had grown accustomed to it. Death, like the wind, always accompanied him.
"Facing death is quite a peculiar experience," he mused. "My primordial spirit is leaving my body and starting to dissipate. If I were outside and directly exposed to sunlight, I'd likely dissolve quickly."
"Without a body, the primordial spirit is like rootless duckweed, lacking support. Unless I can advance further and reach the Yang God realm, I won't be able to freely fly under the scorching sun."