"I now leave this scripture upon the desk in this thatched cottage. Disciples who come after me and read it should know that the Great Dao is an abyss no stubborn fixation can cross. I ask only that whoever is fated to obtain this book make a journey to the Mysterious Capital Immortal Mansion, return the immortal scripture, and inform the immortals within that this was Nan Lüzi's fault."
Hundreds of years of life had passed in the flick of a finger. Alone and trapped, he had labored to decipher the heavenly scripture, only to discover with a start that his lifespan was exhausted and he had gained nothing. Then, at last, remorse had awakened him.
Jiang Yang shook his head. He did not even know when this letter had been written, much less whether the Mysterious Capital Immortal Mansion still existed. Even if he wanted to return the scripture, he likely had no way to do so.
The silk letter was short, and he had nearly reached its end. Only four lines remained, seemingly both Nan Lüzi's summation of the latter half of his life and an expression of his guilt.
"The radiant heavenly scripture remains; black hair turns to snow in sorrow. When beneath the springs I meet my master, I shall kowtow, not daring to raise my head."
Setting down the silk letter, Jiang Yang looked with interest at the bundled roll of wooden slips:
"The Mysterious Capital Heaven of Jun Dao Scripture"—a heavenly scripture?
By then, Shang Qingzheng and Tai Pei'er had finished exploring the medicinal garden and arrived together at the thatched cottage.
Jiang Yang looked up at Shang Qingzheng and asked:
"How did it go? Did you find anything?"
Shang Qingzheng replied dejectedly:
"Don't even mention it. This place is utterly devoid of spiritual