Half an hour later.
Birch Hill was a modest rise near Yellow Wind Ridge, veiled by clouds and mist, where spiritual energy gathered. It was the cultivation grounds of the Yellow Wind Clan.
At this moment, with no one tending it, the grounds were carpeted in dead branches and fallen leaves.
Broken walls and crumbling ruins lay everywhere. Only the cave dwellings carved beneath the cliffs had remained intact.
This was where Zhu Ganglie had settled after moving to Yellow Wind Ridge, rather than the Western Expedition Army's camp or the city.
Amid the rustling fall of autumn leaves, a chipped stone table and a cup of steaming fragrant tea made up the setting for their meeting.
Zhu Ganglie had a pig's head and a man's body, every bristle standing like a steel needle. Yet he was not as large as one might have imagined; in fact, he stood half a head shorter than Old Ape beside him.
His eyes were lowered, as though resentment and malevolent energy filled his body, yet he did not know whom to vent them upon.
Zhu Ganglie sat while Old Ape stood, but the latter had already lost his former "timidity." The disdain in his eyes grew ever stronger, his back straighter, and a faint killing intent spread around him.
Sometimes, recalling the past was an exceptionally painful and cruel thing.
Especially lost memories. In some ways, losing one's memories was a form of protection.
It protected a person, allowing them to cast off their burden, live on, and wait for the future.
"Sir, your tea."
Old Ape stepped forward and poured Qin He a cup of tea. No matter how painfully those memories tormented Old Ape's heart, the faint warmth Qin He had given him could always dissolve the killing intent within him.