My words have become law; I truly have no desire to display my divine power before others.

Deep within the Ten Thousand Mountains, countless feet underground.

There is no light, no wind, no sound here.

Only heat.

It was as hot as a steamer or a kiln.

The air was thick and sticky, and it felt scalding hot when inhaled, like drinking a mouthful of freshly boiled water.

The four walls are black rock, covered with cracks, from which a dark red light shines, sometimes bright, sometimes dim, like a heartbeat, or like breathing.

That was magma, magma rising from the depths of the Earth's core, flowing slowly through this underground space like the blood of the earth.

The space is vast, so vast that you can't see the boundaries.

Above us was a black dome, so high it seemed like another sky.

Beneath my feet were black rocks, scorching hot to the touch, yet not burning, as if something was protecting this place from being swallowed by lava.

In the center of the space stands a stone pillar.

It wasn't formed naturally; it was artificially carved, making it square with sharp edges.

The stone pillar is so thick that it would take dozens of people to encircle it, and so tall that its top is invisible, as if it extends from the ground all the way to the surface.

The surface of the stone pillar was covered with runes, each stroke deep enough to see bone, and they gleamed with a faint light under the reflection of the lava.

Chains were wrapped around the stone pillar.

The chain was very thick, as thick as an adult's arm, and completely black; it was unclear what material it was made of.

Chains hung down from the top of the stone pillar, wrapping around it tightly.

The end of the chain split into several strands, which wrapped around the equally thick iron stakes surrounding the stone pillar.

The iron stakes were driven deep into the rock, and the surrounding ground cracked open with countless tiny fissures, like open wounds.

In the center of the chain, a person is chained.

No, it's not a person, it's something that looks like a person.

It has a human shape, with a head, a torso, and limbs.

But its skin is gray, as gray as lime, or like dead tree bark.

He was very thin, so thin that he was skin and bones, and every rib was clearly visible, like grooves carved into his chest.

Her hair was long, grayish-white, hanging down from the top of her head and spreading on the ground, blending in with the cracks, making it impossible to distinguish between the hair and the cracks.

Its head was lowered and its eyes were closed, as if it were asleep or dead.

Its mouth was slightly open, revealing a few yellowed teeth inside.

Its breathing was very slow, so slow that it seemed it might stop at any moment.

It suddenly opened its eyes, rolled its eyes, and looked at the black dome above its head, at the dark gold runes, and at the black chains.

Its lips twitched, as if it had remembered something unpleasant.

"That stone... is gone." Its voice was low and hoarse, as if it hadn't spoken for a very long time.

It made a "hoarse" sound in its throat, as if it were clearing its throat, or perhaps mocking itself.

It refers to that wishing stone.

Several months ago, it sealed a sliver of its will inside a black stone, and with its last remaining strength, it sent the stone out of the seal.

The stone was small, about the size of a palm, with a smooth surface, and looked no different from an ordinary stone.

But within it lies its power, its will, and its hope of escaping its predicament.

It hurled stones to the outskirts of the Ten Thousand Mountains, to the places where greedy, foolish humans who would do anything for power gathered.

It hopes that the stone will be picked up by an ambitious person, that person will use it to fulfill their wishes, and that person will become obsessed with making wishes again and again.

Ultimately, you become its puppet, helping it collect souls, restore its power, and break its chains.

The plan was going smoothly.

The stone was picked up by a bandit.

That bandit was quite skilled, at the peak of the Blood Exchange stage, and was considered a notable figure in the Hundred Thousand Mountains.

After he found the stone, he was very cautious at first, only making small wishes—to kill a few enemies and escape a few times, nothing that bothered him.

But it's not in a hurry; it has plenty of time.

It waited for the bandit to slowly become addicted, slowly become dependent on it, and slowly make it his only source of support.

It's waited for decades, so a few more years won't make a difference.

But the bandits were too cautious.

He didn't get addicted; in fact, he used it less and less.

For several months, the bandit didn't even touch the rock, keeping it tucked in his arms as if it were a bomb that could explode at any moment.

It waited anxiously inside the stone, but couldn't speak up, because speaking up would give it away.

It can only wait.

Then it received the magic power of that immortal.

A vast, pure power, imbued with divine might, descended upon the stone.

That force wasn't directed at it, it was directed at the bandits.

But it left a trace of its will on that bandit, and that trace of its will sensed that power.

It wasn't just being suppressed, it was being crushed.

It's like an ant standing under an elephant's foot; it doesn't even have time to escape before it's crushed.

It made a decisive move, severing all ties with the stone and actively extinguishing that last thought.

The loss is not significant; it can still withstand it.

What's terrifying is the power itself.

That was the power of an immortal, not the kind of immortal who has just entered the path and hasn't yet gained a firm foothold, but the kind of immortal who has already condensed the Dao fruit and has his own path.

It didn't know who the immortal was, or why the immortal would attack a mere bandit.

All it knows is that it must never expose itself.

Although it was unclear whether immortals had truly descended to earth, logically speaking, there shouldn't be any immortals at this time.

But it doesn't know much about the outside world, nor does it know if anything has changed.

Therefore, he dared not gamble and directly severed that connection of thoughts, preventing the other party from finding him.

Its body involuntarily shrank back.

The chains rattled and echoed in the empty underground space, like the sound of wind blowing through withered branches.

It lowered its head, looking at its withered wrists, deeply marked by the chains, and after a while, it raised its head again.

Don't rush, don't panic, don't panic.

It's been locked up for a thousand years, a few more days won't make a difference.

The immortal will not stay here for long; the Ten Thousand Mountains are not the territory of immortals.

Once the immortal leaves and the storm has passed, we can continue our plans.

Its lips twitched again, this time it smiled.

The smile was faint, but it looked particularly eerie on its gray, gaunt face.

It licked its dry lips and made a gurgling sound in its throat.

It reached out—the chains rattled and dragged on the ground with a harsh scraping sound—and pulled a black stone from a crack in the nearby rocks.

The stone was small, about the size of a palm, with a smooth surface, and didn't look particularly special.

It held the stone in its palm, brought it to its lips, and gently blew on it.

Grayish-white vapor drifted from its mouth, landing on the stone surface like water seeping into sand, and disappeared in an instant.

The surface of the stone gleamed.

When the light disappeared, the stone had turned white.

Then I saw it casually toss the stone aside, and it seemed to fall into another space and disappear.

It sneered. It was nothing. The matter of the bandits was just a trivial matter anyway.

There are other arrangements in place, and slowly, he will still be able to get out, it just takes longer.