Angel returned once more to the Underground District, Sixty-First Town.
After passing through the bustling new district that had only recently been built, he made his way to the old district. Low houses were everywhere here, and most of their eaves and corners had been damaged.
Compared to the bustling new district, the old district was clearly far more rundown.
Yet although there were no holographic projections here, nor any dazzling neon lights, there was greenery rarely seen in Modern City.
Flower beds and small bamboo groves were everywhere.
Every household had flowers and plants growing on their balconies. Green vines also crept across the walls of many old houses.
This place gave Angel the feeling that it was perhaps the most leisurely and livable part of all Modern City.
The people living here were also mostly elderly.
Angel wound his way through the old district's alleyways before finally stopping in front of a small house enclosed by a black iron fence.
The fence was thick with spiderwebs and climbing plants. The stone cottage was covered in graffiti and old dust, more than enough to show that this place had been abandoned for a long time.
Yet this nameless old residence, long since deserted, had once been the home of the Underground District's first pioneer.
People were forgetful.
Glory lasted only for a time, and gratitude often only for a moment. As the years passed, it became like this old home—its prosperity faded, no one came calling, and only broken bricks and tiles remained.
Angel raised a hand and lightly tapped the air ahead.
The authority of Celestial Change began to refine itself before his eyes. Wind stirred, returning dust and fallen leaves to the earth.
Rain fell, soaking the old bricks and polishing them smooth.
Thunder and fire flashed,