Li Xuanfeng emerged from the ancestral hall; the rain outside had lessened considerably, yet its patter persisted on the stone steps, where his black-gold boots stepped, accumulating a stream of clear water in front of the door.
His grey eyes gazed into the water for a moment, where the reflection showed a somewhat aged face, with temples graying, sparse eyebrows, blurred facial lines, thinner lips, and eyes that were sunken. There was no joy of great achievements reflected there, only the weariness of life and death partings.
Li Xuanfeng was surprised at how much he had aged. In that instant, he finally realized the toll that eighty years of struggles and torments had taken on his body, just like most cultivators in the world, vigorous in the prime of life, yet aged beyond recognition.
He stepped into the main hall, where the threshold was much higher than in his youth, reaching up to his lower legs.
