He Lingchuan did not dare waste time. He took out his grappling hook, fixed it to a massive boulder, then gripped the spider-silk rope and swung down into the fissure.

The crack was narrow, but he was agile enough.

“Please let there be some, please let there be some!” the Soul-Stealing Mirror kept muttering nervously. “What do you think? Will there be any?”

“Can you shut up for a bit?” He Lingchuan reached into his chest and switched to a fresh rinsing bead.

Only three were left. The fight and the escape just now had burned through them far too quickly.

If he could not replenish them, then he had only about forty-five minutes left to live.

Forty-five minutes were not nearly enough for him to escape the mountains and get clear of the sandstorm’s affected range.

Thankfully, the spider-silk rope was long enough to let He Lingchuan lower himself all the way to the bottom of the fissure.

The deeper he went, the narrower the crack became. The rock walls were uneven, with some places forcing him to climb down using both hands and feet.

But the steeper and tighter the terrain became, the greater He Lingchuan’s hope grew.

He brushed his hand over a protruding piece of rock. “Only a few grains of sand.”

After the sandstorm swept through, which place was not buried beneath thick layers of sand...