On the road up the mountain, Cui Zhi secretly observed the Literary Scholar beside him.
The Literary Scholar's age could not be judged crudely from his appearance. At first glance, he looked like a young scholar in his twenties, but his actual age might have been seventy or eighty. The scholar beside him was the same: his features were proper and dignified, his bearing steady and tranquil, and he showed none of the mad, deranged air of those Eternal Life Cult heretics. His eyes shimmered like ripples drifting across a river in the dead of night.
Such bearing could only be cultivated by a scion of a great family or someone who had held power and influence for many years. Cui Zhi could not help growing curious. "I observe that you, sir, possess the countenance of a dragon and the bearing of a phoenix. How could you also believe in the Eternal Life Cult's beguiling heresies?"
The sun, moon, mountains, and rivers were never unchanging.
How dare mere mortals dream of eternal life and deathlessness?
With such an elegant bearing, yet serving as a foot soldier for the Eternal Life Cult—casting a bright pearl into darkness. What a pity. When Cui Zhi closed his eyes, he was startled to discover that the space beside him was empty. He could not sense the other man's presence at all. He guessed that the man was either a master of internal martial arts or a prodigy skilled at concealing his aura. With such ability, he could approach Cui Zhi without a sound, and Cui Zhi might not even notice. He was worth guarding against.
The scholar did not answer at once.
He gazed at the winding mountain path stretching upward. For some unknown reason, waves of painful unease seized his heart, as though