Yet he did not dwell on that thought. He quickly steadied his mind and continued the meditation, for succeeding once did not guarantee success the next time.
In the Spiritual Sea, there was no concept of time.
Seated cross-legged upon the nebula, Zhou Ming had no idea how long had passed.
His once-strong body began to wither, his healthy skin shriveled, and his once-handsome face grew spotted with the stains of age.
That previously charming aura had been replaced by the stillness of decline.
Vitality seemed to drain away from him—death slowly approached.
He did not know how long it lasted.
Zhou Ming’s body began to rot.
Yellow pus oozed from decaying flesh; flies and maggots swarmed across his body. Even his clothes had fused with the festering remains.
Then, from the darkness around him, emerged cold, bloodthirsty black serpents devoid of emotion.
They devoured the rotten flesh that fell from Zhou Ming’s body, endlessly feeding.
As more serpents appeared, they covered his entire body like ravenous ghosts, gnawing at every last shred of flesh.
When the flesh was gone, a skeleton appeared atop the nebula.
Yet compared to the white-haired old man depicted in the White Bone Contemplation Scroll, Zhou Ming’s bones were riddled with countless fine holes, as if they could crumble at any moment.
The black serpents, finding no more flesh to consume, slithered within the gaps of his bones for a while before slowly vanishing.
Zhou Ming’s skeleton began to harden—though not drastically, it was clearly stronger than before, no longer so fragile and decayed.
Perhaps those serpents had devoured his delusions, desires, and obsessions—refining them into nourishment.
Or perhaps the reflection into the flesh strengthened the spirit with physical resilience.
Maybe both were true.
This state did not last long.
When Zhou Ming opened his eyes in the external world, the strange phenomena of the Spiritual Sea vanished instantly.
Ending his meditation, Zhou Ming did not feel any spiritual transformation—instead, he quickly reached for a low-grade Nutrient Potion and drank it down.
“Cough.”
“I didn’t expect the White Bone Contemplation to consume so much of the physical body. Luckily, I trained in martial arts beforehand—otherwise, even if I had succeeded in meditation, my body would’ve needed a long recovery.”
Looking at the bloodstain on his right hand wiped from the corner of his mouth, Zhou Ming truly felt grateful for the year and a half he had spent building his foundation.