Li Yan did not know that at the same time he descended the mountain, in a cave high atop the distant peak beyond the stone stele, a tall old man opened his eyes. Clad in coarse gray robes, he sat cross-legged on a meditation cushion. His hair was silver-white, yet his face was like an infant's, rosy to the extreme.
He muttered to himself, "This little fellow is truly interesting. Since when did Small Bamboo Peak take in such a disciple? He has mixed spiritual roots, yet his spiritual power is so pure—and he even possesses a Fragmented Poison Body. I've been in seclusion too long; I don't even know what is happening outside anymore. If the Heavenly Stele had not flown into a rage, I would not even know how many years had passed. This Heavenly Stele truly has the temperament of a child. His cultivation was merely a little low, yet it felt offended just because he looked at it."
Having spoken to this point, the tall old man awkwardly lowered his head and pondered for a moment, as though he had not moved for an unimaginably long time. Even that simple motion of lowering his head appeared exceedingly stiff.
"This little fellow's Fragmented Poison Body is quite a tremendous stroke of fortune as well. In the past several hundred million years, there have only been three such people. But the spiritual power in his body is very strange. By rights, the spiritual power within someone with mixed spiritual roots should be incomparably impure. Why are all several types of his spiritual power so pure? What is going on? Could he have cultivated some strange technique? But I have never heard of such a technique. Or perhaps he consumed some heavenly treasure..."
The old man lowered his head