When Master Danyang came back to his senses, he realized that his left arm, which should have been severed, had somehow regrown.
He was just about to move, but to his shock, he found himself restrained on an iron bed, his limbs tightly bound by sturdy, wide straps, leaving him unable to budge an inch.
Danyang repeatedly formed hand seals and chanted incantations, or tried other divine skills, but found none of them worked at all.
Now, he had actually become a pig on the chopping block, at the mercy of others.
This feeling was utterly humiliating; ever since he snatched that broken blade and killed a man at the age of ten, he'd never ended up in such a predicament.
"Who is it! Who the hell used an illusion technique on me, an immortal!" The unfamiliar surroundings twisted Danyang's face into a snarl as he roared at the woman in front of him.
