Immortality begin with Alchemy Grandmaster

A massive Divine Soul, majestic as a grand prison, feels as if it’s been sealed, utterly unresponsive.

Forced into a corner, the man painfully shifts his gaze, surveying his surroundings.

The low, cracked ceiling, walls made of piled broken planks, a stone-formed table in the center, an iron chain hangs down in a corner, alongside tools resembling sickles and hoes... Lastly, the cold, hard wooden stone bed beneath him and the blanket with a peculiar scent covering him.

All things are simple, plainly laid out.

Yet surveying his surroundings seems to exhaust all his energy.

As he retracts his gaze, he can hear the torrential rain pouring outside.

Even within the house, the rustling sound of rain reverberates.

Tip-tap!

Tip-tap!

Under the heavy downpour, raindrops gather into streams, some drip through the rooftop gaps into the room.

In a moment, a sensation of dampness and gloom arises spontaneously.

The man quietly senses all this, a trace of bitterness forming at the corners of his mouth.

In his life, even at the most difficult times, had he ever fallen to such a dire state?

And all this, thanks to that person!

”Demon...”

Overwhelming hatred, yet caught in the mouth, unable to be voiced.

Even speaking seems unbearably difficult for him now.

The man’s eyes slowly close.

Just then, amid the grand rain outside, hurried footsteps are heard.

Following that, the clanking of metal skirmishes echoes, seemingly reflecting the image of someone fumbling with the door, frantically.

Click!

As the lock falls, the wooden door swings open.

A brief flash of light, and then the door swiftly shuts again.

A figure enters, muttering in a shivering voice.

”So cold, so cold!”

Entering the room, the person quickly sets down what they were carrying and moves to the center.

They seem to bump into something, eliciting a cry of pain and a slight jangle of the iron chain.

Fsshh...

A warmth spreads as the Flames rise, gradually diffusing.

Then comes the soft rustle of clothes being removed, and the sound of washing the body with water.

After entering the room, various sounds continue to unfold, though all are very gentle, as if afraid to disturb something.

Eventually, the aroma of rice permeates, finally dispelling the discomforting sense of cold dampness in the house.

”It’s time to eat!”

As though talking to themselves, or perhaps inviting someone, the person sits with a bowl on the bed’s edge.

She scoops a spoonful of thin porridge, aiming to feed the man lying on the bed.

Just then, a pair of eyes open slowly, gazing quietly at the other.

This scene was unexpected.

The woman freezes, the porridge slipping off the spoon, spilling on the man’s mouth corner.

The woman, in a flurry, grabs a cloth to wipe the man’s mouth.

As she wipes, she asks, ”You’re awake? When did you wake up? What’s your name? Did it burn you?...”

A string of questions follows, but the only response is the man’s raspy voice, like sandpaper rubbing.

”Luo... Chen.”