?
"You foolish child, what are you crying for? We cultivators defy heaven and change our fates. Calamities come thick and fast. I still have a wisp of Remnant Soul left, and you rescued me. This is hardly the worst ending. My soul hasn't scattered to the winds, so what is there to grieve over?"
As he spoke, the Flame wavered. Clearly, even this much was a strain.
The old Daoist raised a finger. A strand of Seven-Colored Light flew from his Primordial Yang Divine Lamp into the lamp that housed Lü Yuanhua's Primordial Spirit, steadying it at once.
Only then did he ask, "Junior Brother, your Primordial Spirit is weak. Don't speak any more. Rest and recover. I'll ask just one thing: someone carrying a Primordial Yang Divine Lamp has been cultivating nearby... Is he a disciple you took on later?"
Within the lamplight, Lü Yuanhua smiled faintly. He said nothing, merely nodded, and the flame dimmed.
Above Yin-Yang Mountain, the sky was clear and the air fresh. One side was quiet, with birds calling deep in the woods. The other was a bare mountain, its rocks exposed.
Though it was early morning and the air was not yet very warm, sunlight had already raised a haze of steam from Yang Mountain. Heat rose from the ground as if it were a summer afternoon.
Cui Zhengfei sat cultivating on Yang Mountain. The temperature, above thirty Du, would have left an ordinary person sweating and dehydrated in no time.
Yet he seemed unaware of it. Not a trace of sweat marked his body as he sat with his eyes closed, apparently deep in meditation.
Tang Changsheng and Wu Shulan watched from a distant ridge. Admiration filled Wu Shulan's eyes. "Sect Leader, this new disciple of yours has a remarkably