Filth covered her once wheat-colored skin, and her sunken cheeks no longer bore any trace of the beauty that had once astonished the prehistoric world. In those hollow eyes remained only the exhaustion of crushing stars.
Houtu, once the most valiant and dashing of the Twelve Ancestor Witches, now appeared frailer than a guttering candle in the wind.
Lu Tian called out to her several times, only to see her back gradually blur between heaven and earth.
He could only follow her day and night, like a shadow.
This was by no means compassion.
From the first signs of the Witch-Demon Calamity, he had coldly seized every opportunity. Any false pity now would only sully this tragic song of heaven and earth.
The day he left the Interception Sect, he had already paved his path to sainthood with bones.
Either rise above the prehistoric world, or be buried upon the path of Dao.
Lu Tian knew well:
Houtu's confusion would eventually come to an end.
When the spark returned to her eyes, it would be time to lead her west.
A strange sight unfolded between heaven and earth.
The haggard Houtu trudged along, her face dim and lifeless as she wandered without purpose.
Lu Tian silently followed behind her all the while.
Silence lay between them.
At times, Lu Tian softly called her name, testing Houtu's reaction.
But Houtu never responded.
She merely muttered to herself from time to time:
"It's all over... They're all gone."
"The Witch Clan no longer exists..."
This journey...
Lasted one hundred and twenty-nine thousand six hundred years.
The powerful figures of the prehistoric world all learned of Lu Tian's actions.
Throughout those long years, Lu Tian's cultivation had almost completely stagnated.
He never ** cultivated, merely followed in Houtu's footsteps across countless mountains and