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Lu Qingfeng looked at Wang Li kneeling on the ground, and sighed inwardly.

In the past.

He had accepted eight disciples in the Chiyan Realm. Wang Li ranked last and had cultivated with him on Panlong Mountain for ten years. Unfortunately, disaster had struck from the heavens. Lu Qingfeng had carelessly provoked a demon king and died himself, dragging these disciples into a desperate flight.

During their escape.

Six disciples had died.

Only his eldest disciple, Han Lin, and youngest disciple, Wang Li, had escaped alive.

Afterward.

Lu Qingfeng had gone looking for them. He had not found Wang Li, but had seen Han Lin once, shortly before his death.

He had never imagined that Wang Li, all alone, would actually cultivate into an Earth Immortal. Whether in perseverance or fortune, he was extraordinary.

"Rise."

Lu Qingfeng sighed inwardly. He felt somewhat guilty toward this disciple.

Wang Li stood up.

He stood respectfully.

After all, they had been master and disciple countless years ago.

Lu Qingfeng felt mostly guilt toward this disciple. Moreover, they had only spent ten short years together. As for affection, more than a hundred thousand years had long since diluted it until little remained.

But to Wang Li, the man before him was both True Lord Tianpeng, who governed the Celestial River, and the first master who had accepted him when he was young and taught him the path of cultivation—the only master he had ever had in this life.

His feelings were different.

Toward the former came awe.

Toward the latter came gratitude.

Naturally, he was utterly respectful.

"Come closer."

Seeing how constrained his disciple was, Lu Qingfeng beckoned.

"Yes."

Wang Li hurried two steps forward.

Lu Qingfeng pointed to the place beside Lu Xiao and said, "Wait there for now."

Lu Xiao stood on