Zhao City.
As the years passed, the mottled scars on the city walls grew ever more numerous. Even a little moss had appeared at their base, growing in the shadows and stubbornly spreading up the walls. Before anyone knew it, decades had passed since this city had been restored from ruins.
The outer city remained as prosperous as ever, forever seething with voices. Countless merchants brought their goods here, and countless scholars came with the hearts of pilgrims to behold the grandeur of the Hundred Schools' Sacred Hall. If one looked closely at the ordinary households and street vendors, almost everyone had calluses between thumb and forefinger. Many were retired Dare-to-Fight Warriors.
The inner city was the complete opposite: sparsely populated and very quiet.
In the courtyard where the Household Head lived, Luo Ling sat quietly beneath a willow tree so thick that it took several people to encircle it. He wore the white robe he had worn that day on the Grasslands, his expression impassive. Autumn had gradually arrived, and the leaves had turned yellow and withered. As a light breeze passed, leaves drifted down in twos and threes, landing on Luo Ling's shoulders. He did not brush them off, merely letting them rest there.
Luo Ling was an unforeseen figure. Even when Ji Zhao created him, he had never imagined that Luo Ling would become the bearer of his divinity.
Ever since Luo Ling learned that he was the special one, he had become somewhat taciturn, sometimes going an entire day without uttering a word.
"Uncle!"
A rather young voice rang out, and a trace of a smile appeared on Luo Ling's impassive face. At the courtyard entrance stood a girl graced with nature's finest beauty and a boy with rosy lips and white teeth. They were Luo