The black shadow looked melancholic, his mismatched black and blue eyes filled with sorrow. Faced with the Thief Master's questioning, the shadow showed no hint of panic. A smile graced his resolute face—one that seemed bitter and forlorn, yet also held a touch of relief.
"Little one, what year is it now?" the black shadow asked, ignoring the question.
The Thief Master paused for a moment, then responded with a furrowed brow, "The Late Ninth-Stack Era of the Mortal Epoch."
"'The Late Ninth-Stack Era...'" the black shadow murmured softly. 'Are we still in the Mortal Epoch?'
"Senior, you still haven't answered my question," the Thief Master said gravely.
The black shadow seemed to snap out of a daze. He looked around Feng Hao's sea of consciousness and let out a dry laugh. "There's no need to worry, little one. I am merely a fragmented wisp of a splinter soul."
