Ye Tian arrived here and no longer concealed himself, walking straight in.
Yet the old men inside the thatched cottage seemed not to have seen Ye Tian pass by at all, each busy with his own affairs.
Some annotated scriptures; some angrily criticized literary matters; some spoke with mouths brilliant as a river of stars, their words forming vital essence and flowing into the void.
At first, Hao Zhen felt somewhat uneasy, afraid that this would slight Ye Tian and anger him, causing him to flick his sleeve and leave, rapidly lowering his favorable impression of the Profound True Realm.
The old men here had long ceased to concern themselves with worldly affairs, burying themselves in piles of books.
If this angered Ye Tian, it would truly be a pity.
But Ye Tian's expression did not change much, and Hao Zhen secretly let out a breath of relief.
Ye Tian was not angry. His expression revealed neither joy nor wrath as he observed everything.
He stopped before one old man for a while, then moved on to the next.
Just then, Ye Tian's gaze shifted and landed upon someone at the very edge of the thatched cottage.
This man looked utterly deranged. His clothes had long since become tattered rags, his hair was a complete mess, and grime covered his body. Let alone pure essence, there was not even a trace of clear radiance around him.
Anyone who had cultivated pure essence would never have allowed mud and filth to stain his body.
Those who cultivated pure essence had already attained a state free from impurity.
He sat alone before a dilapidated thatched cottage, with a brazier placed before him.
Within the brazier, the old man burned sheet after sheet of paper. Every time one was burned, countless characters flew