The wind rose.
The clouds surged.
The setting sun sank in the west.
Mountain winds howled, long robes billowed.
An old man in a gray robe stood before Chen Yang, lowered his head to size him up, and muttered to himself, "So bold, so full of drive, so decisive in killing, and on top of that, an unparalleled talent."
"Given time, to stand atop this Yuning Mountain is not beyond the realm of possibility."
"That old fellow Chen Changsheng's eye for people is as venomously sharp as ever."
This was none other than Chen Botong's true body; at this moment his entire bearing was utterly different from usual, like an immortal descended to the mortal world, with wisps of mysterious aura filling every inch of air within five meters around him.
Under the firmament, it felt as though an immortal stood tall.
And above the universe, vague azure clouds and white dogs kept shifting, scenes changing endlessly.
