Han Li lay motionless on the ground, feeling the scorching heat beneath him while silently counting the time in his mind.
If his memory served him right, following the human realm’s custom of counting a full day as one cycle of day and night, he had been lying here for three months.
The reason he said this was because the sky above him currently displayed three dazzling suns and four hazy, illusory moons simultaneously.
Han Li knew very well that soon, during the night, these suns would gradually transform into moons, and when day returned, the moons would one by one become blindingly hot, eventually manifesting as seven suns again.
In other words, the sky here always maintained seven luminous celestial bodies. During the day, they were unbearably scorching, while at night, they turned cold and dim.
And if his senses were correct, both day and night here were astonishingly long—likely more than three times the duration in the human realm. The temperature difference between day and night was also shockingly extreme. If not for his uniquely resilient physique, he would have perished long ago.
This place was clearly not the human realm, but was it the Spirit Realm? Han Li felt uncertain, unable to confirm.
For one, the spiritual energy here wasn’t particularly dense—it seemed no different from an ordinary spiritual vein in the human realm. Secondly, the way he had arrived here was unusual, entirely accidental, leaving him unsure whether he had truly reached the Spirit Realm.
Recalling the events at the spatial node, Han Li’s expression darkened, a lingering fear creeping into his heart.
That said, if not for the unexpected incident during the final stretch of the node, he might not have survived the relentless waves of spatial storms that followed. After all, most of his protective treasures had been destroyed, including the Eight Spirit Ruler. If not for the activation of the Spirit Transformation Talisman, he would have been obliterated in the spatial turbulence.
Yet, his current situation wasn’t much better.
The moment he emerged from the spatial node, the restrictions he and Frost Li had placed on each other flared up lethally due to their forced separation. If not for his vast knowledge of secret techniques, allowing him to suppress the restriction with another method, he would have died instantly from a backlash of spiritual energy.
Even so, the residual force of the restriction rampaged through his body, continuously damaging his meridians. If not for the Wood Birth Pearl’s ability to regenerate his body, his flesh would have long been irreparably ruined.
Now, two opposing forces clashed within Han Li—one destroying, the other repairing. The process was excruciating, leaving him unable to channel any spiritual energy or move even a muscle. Worse, the destructive force slightly outpaced the restorative one.
Given time, his body would still collapse.
In desperation, Han Li resorted to the Spirit Infant Dissolution Technique, forcibly expelling all his treasures into a storage pouch and dispersing his Spirit Infant. The immense spiritual essence of the infant was then infused into his body to accelerate the healing process.
The cost, however, was severe—for the next hundred years, he would be devoid of any spiritual energy, unable to absorb spiritual power or use divine sense.
At this point, even a higher-level cultivator scanning him would mistake him for an ordinary mortal, detecting nothing unusual.
This life-or-death gamble proved effective.
After three months, the residual restriction finally dissipated, and most of his meridians had recovered.
By his estimate, he might regain mobility in another month.
With great effort, he tilted his head slightly, revealing an endless expanse of bluish-gray sand, devoid of any vegetation.
He was stranded in a desolate, desert-like wasteland, half-buried in the strange sand, motionless.
Above him, the three suns gradually dwindled to two, then one, as the sky dimmed toward twilight.
Han Li kept his eyes wide open, a faint blue glint flickering in his pupils as he stared unblinkingly at the sky.
Before long, shrill cries echoed in the air as over twenty black dots appeared, circling before diving downward.
Though unable to channel spiritual energy into his eyes, Han Li’s sharp vision still allowed him to discern the creatures clearly—black, eagle-headed, bat-bodied monstrosities, each four to five feet in size, with gleaming talons and menacing wings.
The monstrous birds descended rapidly, closing in on Han Li, who lay like a corpse.
A cold glint flashed in Han Li’s eyes. Without moving his limbs, he tilted his head and sucked in sharply.
A clump of bluish-gray sand inexplicably gathered and flew toward his mouth. Just before entering, he exhaled gently, suspending the sand in a swirling motion before his lips.
As the lead birds swooped within ten zhang, their foul stench and razor-sharp beaks looming, Han Li’s sunken chest suddenly expanded. A gust of white wind blasted from his mouth, striking the suspended sand.
With a sharp whistling sound, the sand transformed into countless bluish streaks, peppering the lead birds like a storm of needles.
The birds shrieked metallic cries, scattering in panic, but within moments, blood sprayed from their bodies, and they plummeted to the ground, grievously wounded.
To Han Li’s surprise, the remaining birds ignored him, instead attacking their injured kin, tearing them apart before flying off with chunks of greenish flesh.
Soon, the desolate sands were silent again, leaving Han Li alone.
His expression remained calm, as if such scenes were commonplace, though his flickering gaze hinted at deeper thoughts.
As the last sun faded, morphing into seven crescent moons, Han Li felt a familiar awe at the spectacle.
Suddenly, his expression shifted to one of wariness. From a distance, the rumble of hooves and wheels grew louder—a large group was approaching.
Han Li hesitated, unsure whether to draw their attention. Buried halfway in the sand, he might remain unnoticed.
But his indecision vanished when a fist-sized crimson bird appeared overhead, circling at thirty to forty zhang, its melodious cry echoing for miles—clearly signaling the approaching group.
Han Li exhaled. Even if he could spit sand at the bird now, it wouldn’t help. He could only wait.
Soon, the ground trembled slightly as figures approached.
Several riders on monstrous beasts halted at a distance, eyeing Han Li coldly.
Han Li tilted his head to observe them.
Indeed, despite their strange attire, they were unmistakably human.
The riders, all men between twenty and forty, wore varying armor—some in full gleaming plate, others with only a few glowing bone pieces protecting vital areas. Each wielded a heavy, spiked club-like weapon.
More striking were their mounts—massive, wolf-like beasts with black horns and thick armored plating, standing two zhang tall.
The riders, sensing Han Li’s immobility, relaxed slightly but remained cautious.
A scar-faced man in his forties muttered to a younger companion, who then retrieved a white disk and urged his beast forward.
Stopping a few zhang away, the youth spoke in an unintelligible tongue. Receiving no response, he frowned, scrutinized Han Li, then raised the disk and waved it toward him.
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