Daoist Wang rarely found himself dumbfounded.
After all, he had cultivated through three lifetimes and experienced the realm between life and death many times. At his core, he was a mature, handsome immortal who merely looked young.
But today, he had been stunned twice.
And the second time was especially absurd.
A white-bearded old man at the peak of the Golden Immortal Realm, whose pressure faintly rivaled that of Nine Spirits Sword Venerable, suddenly emerged in luxurious robes with a large entourage and shouted, "Senior!"
Wang Jixuan stared blankly for several seconds, studying the man's face for quite a while before vaguely recognizing him...
"Murong Zhengyi?!"
"Senior!"
For no apparent reason, the old man's eyes reddened. Tears streamed down his face as he stepped forward, gave Wang Jixuan a deep Daoist salute, and said in a trembling voice:
"Six hundred thousand years! Zhengyi waited bitterly for six hundred thousand years! Thanks to that senior's aid, I was able to give those cultivators who had drifted into the Immortal Realm back then a place to settle and survive!
"Senior! Zhengyi has finally seen you again, Senior!"
Wang Jixuan hurried forward to support him, tightly gripping Murong Zhengyi's arm.
"You... how did you grow so old?"
But Murong Zhengyi was too choked with sobs to answer.
At this moment, he was no longer the Old Alliance Leader of the Thousand Worlds Alliance, whose word carried absolute weight, nor was he a renowned expert of this world. He was merely venting all the pressure he had endured.
How much had he experienced?
A great deal.
How could establishing themselves in the Immortal Realm have been easy? Even with the barrier formed by the Great Dao of Time protecting them from external enemies, internal strife alone had pushed Murong Zhengyi to the brink of