In a small alley of Phoenix City, a flicker in the void as Li Qing stepped out.
A muddled, filthy, slightly putrid odor like that of a sewer reached the tip of his nose, and underfoot was a finely crafted stone path.
Looking at the prosperous scene of this land after several years, he still frowned. Stepping onto the bustling street, he gazed at the passersby. The air was filled with an elderly scent, a mixture of the dead skin and sweat of the aged, and in his vision were countless human-like forms of creeping fungus mats.
"It's been a long time since I've been back."
Li Qing's eyes glimmered with a pensive expression.
Having grown accustomed to extraordinary races, now this primitive planet's life form that hasn't even perfected the gene of the Third Senses feels somewhat uncomfortable to look at.
The old anxiety of Ning Guochang's trypophobia came back somewhat.
Truly, there's a difference between the immortal and the mundane.
