[Tongtian watched Su Miao's downcast expression over the casualties among her disciples.
He reached out a finger to tap her between the brows, slowly rubbing away her furrowed frown.
"The Prehistoric World is broken and battered, but there are always fools who, after a calamity, pick up the shattered pieces bit by bit and piece them back together.
Take those two bald donkeys Jieyin and Zhunti, for instance... or you."
Su Miao thought of the two martial uncles first and froze in surprise.
Tongtian poked her forehead: "Patch up as much as you can, and we're here for the parts you can't. What are you afraid of?"
Su Miao turned her head away to hide her reddened eye rims.
Tongtian pulled her into his arms, holding her just as he used to when she was little.
"The Prehistoric World was never saved by just one person.
You did what you could, and that's enough.
The rest is their own destiny."]
Spirit Mountain.
Zhunti's fingertips paused.
Tongtian's casual remark in the water screen—"take those two bald donkeys Jieyin and Zhunti, for instance"—struck him so abruptly that he failed to catch the blow for a moment.
Jieyin sat by his side, the golden light at the edge of his lotus throne shimmering slightly.
The hardships of repairing the spiritual veins of the West for hundreds of thousands of years had never been acknowledged by anyone with such casual lightness before.
Even though Tongtian's words were spoken offhandedly, yet... Zhunti slowly closed his eyes.
They guarded the barren spiritual veins of the West, year after year repairing the earth veins and dredging the spiritual channels, yet no one had ever thought it amounted to anything remarkable.
But Su Miao saw it.
Tongtian saw it too.
So there really would be someone who saw