As Ji Boda’s true qi flowed into him, the sensation of being gnawed by ants vanished instantly, replaced by a searing heat.
Zhao Xuan felt as if he had been strapped onto a roasting rack, scorched over and over again.
The sounds from his bones, initially faint, grew louder, finally settling into a rhythmic clattering. Streams of black sludge began to seep from his pores.
Chapter 52