At that moment, Wang Xian's voice was calm—so calm it was as though he were talking about something that had nothing to do with him.
Yet in that instant, ripples rose uncontrollably in his heart.
He suddenly thought of his master, Old Zhang.
That slovenly Daoist... in the back mountain of White Cloud Temple, after he left, only his master remained, along with an old yellow dog too feeble to walk.
Even though the old man had been so poor that he sold him off to several women, Wang Xian could not bring himself to hate him.
Even when he had plunged headlong into the desert, dug himself a grave, and waited to die, he had never hated his master...
In the end, chased by those women, he had no choice but to flee Phoenix City. He wondered whether those women had made things difficult for the old man.
Would the people in power at those great sects take out their anger on a slovenly Daoist because he had left without saying goodbye?
Did his master still go into the city every day to buy mutton buns?
Rain or shine, claiming that Old Meng's mutton buns were delicious.
He bought six every time, ate four himself, and saved two for the yellow dog.
The image was both funny and heartbreaking... a scruffy old Daoist squatting on the doorstep, carefully feeding buns to an old dog.
Sigh, he couldn't go back!
At least Wang Xian had settled down by now.
For at least the next five to eight years, he would not think about how to leave the Demon Realm.
Since he was here, he might as well make the best of it.
How could Du Yulin know that, in such a short span of time, Wang Xian's heart had already