"Me?"
"The young lord of the Asura clan?"
Yang Wu stared blankly into the distance. A flash of sorrow passed through his eyes before they slowly dimmed. In an icy, indifferent voice, he refused, "You came too late."
Luo Qi froze.
Ignoring his bedraggled appearance, he raised his head and asked, "Why?"
Yang Wu yanked open the collar at his neck.
Revealing a faint scar.
"I am already dead."
What use was there in the Asura clan welcoming back a dead young lord?
The only reason he could still move freely was because Tu Shan Jun had infused him with a spirit, along with the bloodwine from the warm body at his waist.
Otherwise, the moment his body stiffened, his soul would scatter between heaven and earth.
"I came too late."
Luo Qi murmured softly.
Then two streams of muddy tears carved twin furrows through the dirt on his face.
He had never imagined that, despite doing everything he could to shake off his pursuers, he would still arrive too late.
The young lord was dead.
Overwhelmed by grief, Luo Qi collapsed facedown on the ground.
"No."
"It is not too late!"
A somewhat hoarse voice abruptly cut in.
Luo Qi's body stiffened. With hope blazing in his eyes, he looked over and stared fixedly at the tall figure approaching.
That person was actually over ten feet tall.
His figure was slender.
He wore only a simple white robe and approached barefoot.
His long white hair hung loosely over his shoulders.
The white-robed cultivator walked to Luo Qi's side and looked at the youth standing beneath the shadow of the great tree.
"A likeness—an uncanny likeness," he marveled. His gaze also fell upon Yang Wu's neck, where a savage knife scar stood out even more vividly against his fair skin.