The sky outside remained overcast, evoking an oppressively gloomy sensation.
Within this spiritual realm, the sky did not change, but as night approached, Beichuan Si noticed something amiss in the air.
Beichuan Si silently gazed out of the building.
In his line of sight, island spirits with cracked skin on their limbs bore withered branches on their faces, a sight so terrifying and eerie that even Beichuan Si couldn't help but raise an eyebrow.
Just as Ihui Nai Luo had said, when night fell, the spirits would unconsciously spread out.
In addition to these ordinary spirits, there were also spirits that couldn't even maintain a human form.
These spirits were entirely composed of pinkish tumors, with deformed eyeballs hanging above the tumors, and emitting a stench of decay that was unmistakable even from a distance of about forty to fifty meters.
"That is the essence of desolation," Beichuan Si muttered to himself.
They belonged to the Yellow Springs.
