Five months had already passed, yet Li Qi showed no sign of being finished.
Yao Ji lay sprawled where she was, bored out of her wits, looking utterly dead inside—like a college student who had sat through eight consecutive advanced calculus classes, dazed and listless, her spirit waning.
Yet even like this, she still exuded an air of dignified languor.
No one tended the spring's splendor; by the flowers, wine was poured as deep or shallow as one pleased. The peonies blazed red, while the distant fragrance of sweetbrier drifted on. With no particular bearing at all, her entire body was steeped in sorrow.
There was no helping it. Yao Ji's beauty and bearing were simply there; even if she slumped like Ge You, she could make it look like she was reclining on an imperial consort's couch. Li Qi, however, was busy studying the specific state of the entire Divine Path and did not spare her a single glance.
By now, Li Qi felt more disgust toward Yao Ji than anything else. In truth, he did not particularly want to stay with her.
Presumably, Yao Ji felt the same way about Li Qi. Their paths differed, so naturally they found each other equally unpleasant to look at.
But in the next instant, Yao Ji suddenly sat upright.
"Hey, aren't you people supposed to hate involving yourselves in worldly affairs? Why did you suddenly pop up this time?" Yao Ji asked the air beside her.
A figure suddenly emerged from the air.
A single veil of blue gauze, a water-blue Daoist Robe, silk cords at the waist, clear elegant brows, and a handsome, commanding face.
The newcomer was none other than the Little Heavenly Master, Zhang Zong.
But now, he clearly could no longer be called the "Little Heavenly Master."