The old man left the attic, reeling in a state of wild shock.
Meanwhile, the middle-aged man rose from his Taishi Chair. Through the sheer window gauze, he gazed at the branches swaying in the gentle breeze, his eyes revealing a tension he had not felt in centuries.
Yes, tension. Amid this long-lost feeling, his breathing grew rapid. It was a mixture of anticipation and urgency—the anticipation for an answer and the urgent need to know the result.
He had been tempted to seek out Qin Fan countless times before but had forcefully suppressed the urge. He believed in fate, in the damnable cycle of Heavenly Dao Reincarnation. Therefore, he could only wait, wait for the day the prodigy who had occupied his thoughts for half a year would finally appear in his world.
And after his constant, eager waiting, that day had finally come.
