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In the dim and spacious ship cabin, in front of Li Huowang, the dark brown Root Carving Eight Immortals with their twisted and entwined wooden bodies appeared incredibly creepy under the green fluorescent light.

Compared to Iron-Crutch Li and Lv Dongbin, the others among the Eight Immortals looked even more frightening. Each one, while preserving the same root, had its unique grotesque feature. Take He Xiangu, for instance, whose neck was twisted like a dough twist.

And Han Zhongli, with a bare chest and uneven breasts—not to mention the wrong number of them—hanging like rotten fatty meat, looked particularly disgusting.

The pitch-black cabin was very quiet. Faced with these things, the only thing Li Huowang could hear beside his own breathing was silence.

Surrounded by the wooden sculptures of the Eight Immortals, Li Huowang knew that in this utterly mad world, anything associated with the word 'immortal' was no good!