At the doorway appeared a tall figure, the hem of a wool coat fluttering, with a small plump red fox perched on the shoulder.
It was Bai Mo!
...
In the pitch-black dream.
A fierce wind rushed into the ruined palace, making the bronze wind lanterns sway, casting flickering shadows.
On the bronze couch, Ancient Immortal Ma Liu lay limp like mud, his face as pale as paper, eyes open yet dull and lifeless.
A group of disciples gathered around the bed, all with peculiar expressions.
The senior disciple, Jiao Su, squatted by the bed, holding the master's wrist, trying to take his pulse.
But he couldn't make out anything... After all, he was only Sequence Eight, and compared to his master, a solid Sequence Four Immortal, his abilities were insignificant.
"Something's wrong here."
"What's really going on?"
That day, Master went up to the Bronze Altar, planning to visit old friends in Douluo Heaven and steal the Alchemy Furnace.
