Even though he saw the storage bag.
Lin Chang'sheng didn't just rush forward in a fit of excitement to grab it; he stood more than ten feet away, sent his divine sense probing out, and inspected the spot carefully. It seemed like nothing was wrong, but he was still on edge.
A cultivator who's sat down to die—what if he's not truly gone, if a lingering will remains, hiding in those bones, trying to possess someone?
When you're a cultivator, who wants to die?
Even if your body's wrecked, as long as your soul survives, you'll naturally look for a shot at rebirth.
Thinking about this, Lin Chang'sheng immediately let the little white fox on his back down and told it, "Xiaobai, go grab that storage bag!"
"Ying ying ying!"
The little white fox's big eyes took on a disgusted look; its furry paws paddled frantically in protest—it wanted nothing to do with this.
"Useless thing! Ungrateful fox!"
"Starting tomorrow, your rations get cut in half!"
