Even after countless reincarnations, the result was still the same.
Mo Mingkong was one of those trapped in the game, so of course he understood.
The three of them stopped talking.
After all, waiting to die was already something they had become thoroughly accustomed to.
The city gates stood wide open.
Once inside, the fragrance of food and wine drifted through every street and alley.
The vendors were bustling with life. Hawkers carrying strings of candied hawthorn shouted their wares, while in an open space not far away, wandering performers smashed boulders on their chests to bursts of applause...
All the bustle of the Mortal Realm had gathered into this fleeting scene.
Even though he had seen plenty of worldly splendor, Bifang still felt a trace of emotion.
Many cultivators entered the world to cultivate. Perhaps it was not entirely for cultivation.
The bustling mortal world, its prosperous lights and hearthfire—cultivators accustomed to the ethereal bearing of immortals and the silence of standing aloof from the mundane world would find it hard not to like such a place.
Bifang's current travels were, in part, also meant to witness the great tides of this era.
His true body cultivated within the river of time. This incarnation of his was more like a trace of mortal dust severed from his true body's past-life Three Corpse Severance.
The thoughts reflected in it were likewise those of his true body in its youth, when its Dao heart had not yet been fully tempered.
Bifang walked in with a natural expression. His robes seemed seamless as heaven-woven garments. Even if no one could tell where he came from, they instinctively did not dare approach him.
He easily avoided the crowds.
Then he looked at the incomparably dense gray clouds circling above the city, like a