Alas!
The waters of Canglang stretch without end.
For whom does the Long River's stele mourn?
"Urgh... ah!"
The Long River Dragon Lord's neck bones had already been completely crushed. His head had been driven straight down through his neck and into his chest, which instead fixed him in an upright posture.
Before his eyes was the inner wall of his own Dao body, golden blood soaking his vision.
Whenever he opened his mouth, gurgle, gurgle, blood poured in, then spilled back out. The sound was rather soft and delicate, like resting beneath the shade of a tree on an autumn afternoon, piling stones into a stove, gathering dead branches for fuel, setting up a clean clay jar, and brewing a pot of homemade fruit wine. When the wine boiled, bubbles began to rise... its fragrance spreading like the open wilds.
"Cough! Cough! Cough!"
Ao Shuyi, who would live forever and never die, had in fact long forgotten what the pain of the flesh felt like.
Nor had he revisited those memories in a long time.
He had poured all the strength he had used to lift the Nine Garrisons of the Long River and escape into the Cang Sea, leaving himself here to endure alone.
Speaking with his head buried in his chest cavity, it was as though he could speak only to himself.
He murmured, the muffled sound within his chest like a cry of grief—
"How... can our kind call ourselves emperors!?"
While the Lieshan Clan was still alive, he had indeed once said jokingly—
"Shuyi, how about letting you be the next Human Emperor?"
Ao Shuyi still remembered how he had frozen, then asked, "How can a Dragon Race member be the Human Emperor?"
The Lieshan Clan had burst out laughing then. "You actually wanted