Top of Qinglian

Spring and autumn come, seven hundred years have passed.

Amethyst Island, the sky darkened.

A huge thundercloud floated high in the sky, a piece of blackness, thunder snakes danced wildly, and silver lightning struck down one after another, like a sea of ​​thunder, with amazing momentum.

Wang Qingfeng stood on a steep peak and looked into the distance.

He has already entered the middle stage of virtual refining. After all, he is a double spiritual root, which is more than a thousand years slower than Wang Qingcheng.

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