Ling Tian snapped out of the shock of that slash and suddenly looked toward his father, only to see the latter standing frozen in place as if time had stopped, the spirit gone from his eyes once more.
The Sprout Saber clenched in his hand remained slightly raised in the direction that slash had struck.
Yet those hollow eyes were fixed on him.
His gaze had no spirit, but the man himself did.
From that gaze, Ling Tian sensed a restrained expectation, a profound emotion condensed from countless unspoken words.
Vaguely, he seemed to understand the deeper meaning behind his father's slash.
At that moment, dark crimson flames suddenly sprouted from the bones beneath Ling Xiao's clothes, wrapping his entire body in blazing fire in an instant.
Yet his hand still gripped the Sprout Saber with deadly force, without the slightest slackening.
Ling Tian watched the scene with a thousand emotions surging through him, so distressed that he could not speak.
After learning of his origins and discovering his father's identity, he had imagined their reunion countless times—their meeting, the days they would spend together afterward, and so on. Yet he had never imagined that after only such a short while, before they had even exchanged more than a few words, the father he had only just gained would burn to ashes before his very eyes.
The joy of regaining what was lost and the grief of losing it again flooded Ling Tian's heart in the span of an instant.
For a time, it left his whole being dazed.
He had even forgotten what sorrow felt like, falling into a numb stupor.
Only after a long while
did he finally accept this cruel reality.
Bai Ju retrieved the Sprout Saber from the ash-like bone fragments. With several traces of grief