The gloomy wind mourned, and the fallen flowers were completely burned.
Ye Zhu lay peacefully amidst the pouring Dao rain, leaving the world with a serene smile on his lips.
Ye Qinglian embraced the old man, trembling all over.
Soon.
Outside the graveyard, streaks of sword light approached.
The news of Ye Zhu's life token shattering had spread throughout the valley, and many disciples gathered around the tomb, some standing in silent reverence, others weeping bitterly.
"..."
Duan Zhao stood quietly in the Dao rain, his expression complex.
He was still a young man.
But no longer the youth of the past.
The hardest thing in the world is parting, the pain of separation and death is the greatest suffering here.
"Master."
Duan Zhao's voice was somewhat hoarse, and he transmitted, "Elder Ye... has he passed away?"
The word "death" was direct.
In major sects, holy lands, other words are often used to beautify it.
But Duan Zhao did not avoid it.
"Yes."
