Qin Ming rubbed his temples; every time he labored to think back on those fragmented memories, he would feel a slight headache and a sense of exhaustion on his spirit.
One could imagine how severe his injuries must have been in the past. Despite having been reborn over and over, continuously improving his physique, he had yet to fully recover.
However, he was certain recovery should be imminent. With the successive postnatal transformations from the womb, he was finally going to resolve the last remaining minor issues on his body.
"Very disjointed images, my life seems pieced together, almost false," Qin Ming frowned.
As a young child, he lived a life of poverty, with tattered clothes patched up all over. Yet, by the time he was thirteen or fourteen, everything was markedly different.
