The Ghost Immortal Emperor's gaze fell on Fang Chen's face. His gaunt, aged features barely changed, but something immeasurably ancient seemed to stir deep in his clouded eyes, like silt disturbed on a lakebed, sending ripples spreading outward.
He opened his mouth. A dry breath rasped from his throat, almost too faint to hear, as though he had gone so long without speaking that his vocal cords had forgotten how to vibrate.
The Realm Spirit Clone bent down and put his ear near the Ghost Immortal Emperor's lips. Then he straightened sharply and turned to Fang Chen, his voice hoarse with excitement he could barely contain. "He wants to sit up!"
Fang Chen stepped forward and supported the Ghost Immortal Emperor by the shoulders.
Those shoulders were little more than bone. Even through the coarse robe, Fang Chen could clearly feel the jutting shoulder blades. Yet he could also feel the Heaven and Earth Origin moving slowly and steadily through that wasted body, like spring rain seeping into a riverbed long since run dry.
He carefully helped the Ghost Immortal Emperor sit up, tucked a pillow behind his back, and let him lean against the headboard.
The Ghost Immortal Emperor trembled faintly, like someone just rescued from an ice cellar, slowly warming beside a stove.
He lowered his head to look at his withered hands, then surveyed the furnishings of the thatched hut. His gaze paused in turn on the clay vat in the corner, the oil lamp beneath the window, and the coarse porcelain teacup on the table.
At last, his gaze returned to the Realm Spirit Clone.
"How long have I been asleep?"
His voice was as rough as sandpaper, but every word was clear.
Tears finally spilled down the Realm Spirit Clone's face. He wiped at them