Wind swept through his white hair. Strands fell onto his shoulders, silvery white, like a clump of withered grass beneath the gray-yellow daylight.
He lowered his head and looked at himself.
The backs of his hands were covered in fine wrinkles and age spots. His fingers were as thin as dry twigs. His clothes hung loosely on him, not because they had grown larger, but because his body had shrunk.
His once six-foot frame looked as though all its moisture had been drained away, leaving a gaunt, wasted figure.
The five decays of heaven and man. He had already entered that stage ahead of his time.
A shattered Dao Foundation, an exhausted lifespan, fading vitality... the final signs of a cultivator's decline.
Chen Hao stood in the wind atop Kunlun Mountain, looking down at what he had become.
Then he smiled.
The corners of his mouth barely moved. On a face that had aged decades, that smile seemed to hold every emotion, yet none could be read.
He raised his hand.
Transformation Art.
Magic power flowed.
His white hair turned black again from the roots. The wrinkles on his face smoothed away one by one. His withered frame filled out, his muscles regained their fullness, and his bones straightened.
A few breaths later, anyone standing before him would still have seen that young man in his early twenties.
A gentle face. Handsome features. A straight back.
Exactly as he had been when he entered his study for secluded cultivation six years ago.
As though nothing had happened.
Chen Hao flexed his fingers. The Transformation Art held steady. Maintaining this appearance with his remaining cultivation took little effort.
He turned toward the archway.
Inside the passage, the framework forged from five elements Dao power glowed softly.
The fragments of the void