Two months later.
It was the first month of Ming year 483, and flowers bloomed in the warmth of spring.
Cheng Xinzhan's manifestation had returned from the Western Regions.
The manifestation had traveled throughout Flame Mountain and visited the place where the Qilin's corpse had fallen all those years ago. It was indeed an excellent place to refine a Golden Corpse with fire. He had also ventured deep into the Gobi Desert, seen its rivers and oases, and taken mortal form to speak with the people who lived there.
He had never imagined that fruit grown in the desert could be so fragrant and sweet.
However, he had failed to persuade Huo Wuwei to abandon his campaign against the Qilian Sword Sect, and he was hardly in a position to try. He himself had admitted before Huo Wuwei that Jin Mingzi had been half a master to him. By rights, then, he ought to have joined Huo Wuwei in storming the Qilian Mountains to avenge their master.
Instead, Huo Wuwei had shown consideration for the Daoist's current position and standing, and had not invited him to take vengeance together. But as for himself, he had made his stance quite clear: regardless of what outsiders thought, and regardless of anyone's attempts to dissuade him, Jin Mingzi's kindness as his master had been as vast as the sea. Only wiping out the sect and killing his enemies could ease the hatred in his heart. Cheng Xinzhan could do nothing. This was a knot that could not be untied.
At the same time, he truly could not understand what the patriarchs of these sword sects were thinking. It was one thing for them to join the Golden Immortal Association and stir up storms themselves, but why force others to join? Just because Senior