The book of Xianyang Volume 17, page 10 says: Three Thousand Worlds: One, Small Thousand World. Two, Medium Thousand World. Three, Great Thousand World. It is said that wherever the sun and moon shine, it is called a world.
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Mu Ge did not know exactly how many worlds existed in the universe; she only knew that she had died, her body blown apart into shards. Yet, when her consciousness returned, she felt a depressing, dark, and blood-scented enclosing space...
Linchuan, the name of this continent.
Fine sand swirled over the wasteland, and the chasms carved by swords and axes were filled with bright red blood.
Bloodlight occupied the gray-white firmament, the blazing sun smothered by crimson, blocking out its heat.
Countless armored corpses lay silently, intertwined with the earth’s yellow sands. Perhaps, at the moment their lives ceased, they had already become a part of this desolate land.
Suddenly, amidst a mound of corpses piled like a hill, something stirred slightly.
From among the crevices, a blood-stained hand, nails clogged with grime, struggled to emerge—eerie and terrifying!
That hand, exposed beyond the corpse hill, shivered slightly as the cold wind lashed against it.
A few moments later, the blood and dirt encrusted hand forcefully pushed aside the reachable bodies, gradually widening the crevice.
"Phew—!"
A muffled sound faintly came through the gap.
The sound seemed like a sigh finally released, yet also like a stoic endurance of excruciating pain.
On the corpse hill, from the artificially widened gap, another equally blood-stained hand emerged. The two hands worked mechanically without cease, and finally, finally, the gap that could only barely let a hand through was expanded enough to accommodate a person’s body.


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