Wu Shu's face turned pale as paper. His limbs trembled as if unable to bear the weight of his own cultivation. The faint light in his eyes flickered once, then went out entirely.
A muffled crack sounded from within his body—his dantian collapsing inward as the last traces of spiritual energy dissipated into the air. Without his nascent soul to anchor it, his cultivation foundation crumbled in an instant. Blood leaked from the corners of his mouth, then from his ears, his nose.
His breath hitched once. Then he ceased moving altogether.
Xiao Ning stood a short distance away, his expression calm. After a moment, he walked forward in silence.
He knelt beside the corpse and extended two fingers, gently sliding the space ring from Wu Shu's right hand. The ring's restrictions had already faded.
Then, without hurry, Xiao Ning's gaze swept toward the man's sleeve. A faint fluctuation of spiritual light lingered near the seam.
He raised his hand and flicked lightly.
