A Joyful Nezha

Nezha immediately put away his magic treasures and hurried toward Xuanxiao with delight written all over his face.

"Grand—" The word reached his lips; he had meant to call him Grandmaster, but catching the calm look in Xuanxiao's eyes, he promptly changed his address. His tone was both intimate and respectful. "What brings you here so suddenly?"

Xuanxiao raised a hand and gently stroked Nezha's head, smiling softly. "You're this happy to see me?"

Nezha tipped up his face, allowing him to tousle his hair. He nodded happily without pause, his head bobbing like a chick pecking at grain. "Of course I'm happy! It's been many years since we last parted."

To an existence like Xuanxiao, who had lived through countless ages, a dozen or so years were but the flick of a finger, not worth mentioning. But Nezha had been born for barely over twenty years; several years of separation already felt like an age to him.

Seeing Nezha like this, the civil and military officials in the hall were all stunned dumb. Though Nezha had never flaunted his pride wantonly in the past, he possessed an innate aloofness and self-possession. Even before his martial uncle Jiang Ziya, he merely observed proper etiquette and maintained his respect; he had never shed every one of his sharp edges like this.

No one had ever seen him so utterly reliant, like a child acting spoiled. Even before his own elder brothers, Jin Zha and Mu Zha, Nezha had always been determined to be strong and would never reveal the slightest weakness.

For a moment, everyone grew even more curious about this mysterious Daoist's origins.

Only then did Nezha come back to his senses. Seeing that everyone in the hall still held weapons and that the atmosphere was taut with tension, his