On a cliff on Kunlun Mountain, ancient trees towered overhead, their foliage thick and lush.
Meng Chuan sat against an ancient tree, one leg stretched out on the ground and the other bent upward. He rested a hand on his knee and gazed into the distance.
White clouds drifted by, gathering and unfurling. Now and then, a breeze passed through, stirring the cloud immortals in the sky.
His hair moved with the breeze, and the occasional glimpse of his profile would have dazzled even an Immortal.
As for Meng Qi, he lay sprawled on the ground without a shred of dignity or spirit. One look told you he was no good.
He was not worth wasting ink on. That wretched Primordial Emperor could be left unmentioned!
Jiang Zhiwei, Chonghe, and the others had already left.
Meng Chuan had appeared and severed the Lamp-Bearing Divine Envoy's arm, while Meng Qi was confident he could attain Self-Proven Legend on his own. They could leave without worry.
So they each went home to cultivate hard, hoping for the day they, too, could attain Self-Proven Legend on their own.
The Yuxu Palace was wonderful, but it was not their home.
Meng Chuan, of course, stayed put.
Was Meng Qi's home not his home too?
"They want to come here looking for clues about Little Sang. Honestly, I hope they find these so-called clues."
Meng Qi spoke suddenly from where he lay on the ground, sadness in his voice.
Meng Chuan paused and looked at him. Meng Qi's expression was complicated.
Guilt, longing, grief, anger—every emotion was there.
Meng Chuan understood at once.
You want to act?
"There will be a glimmer of hope someday," Meng Chuan said.
Meng Qi knew how Gu Xiaosang could be revived, but he could not say so. He could