The second-to-last person to regain his senses had a gloom that refused to disperse coiled around his brow.
Yet when he looked at the Thread of the Root, he smiled in relief.
"Why is Xiang An laughing?" the Thread of the Root asked with an understanding expression.
"This king is merely happy that the Central Plains can finally be at peace." Xiang An shook himself, a trace of helplessness in his voice. "That said, why am I still wearing this armor even after dying? It's heavy."
"Haha, it seems that without Xiao Ye, she truly remained a thorn in your heart." The Thread of the Root's laughter carried a profound sigh.
The annos were him, and he was naturally the annos.
He was the convergence of the annos, their collective whole. What the annos had experienced throughout human history was equivalent to his own experiences.
Just as he himself had said.
He had once stood outside Britain's city gates and driven back more than ten thousand faeries with a shout; he had once danced proudly at an exhibition for the new school of art he had founded; he had once carried a general's severed head through a moonlit forest and battled several warriors without defeat; he had once let out humanity's first roar of defiance at the gods upon a storm-tossed sea; he had once been dragged into the abyss by a demon's outstretched hands, able only to die as a human in the end; he had once stood tall beside the Yellow River, refusing under any circumstances to compromise with brutality, and only much later found the path that truly belonged to him; he had once become part of a seal, slowly ascending into the sky borne aloft by his friend, completely removing the gods from this world for