Especially those pupils—bright and spirited, filled with fervor and light—were remarkably infectious.
At times, Chen Xun could not help but look twice, a trace of a gratified smile silently appearing at the corner of his lips.
Little Wuhen was naturally a detached person. Chen Xun had raised him from infancy, and no one knew Little Wuhen better than he did. Of course he knew.
But so what? It had never affected their father-son bond, nor had it affected anything else.
As long as he lived easily and happily, that was enough. The light in his eyes had not faded with the years; instead, it had grown ever richer.
Suffering had never been worth praising, nor had it ever been worth enduring.
He was the Five Elements Dao Ancestor of the Three Thousand Great Worlds. By now, he no longer needed to watch his words and actions. Naturally, he could say such things—and he was even more qualified to change them. Whoever dared loudly object, he would surely pay them a visit and let them experience what true suffering was!
There was even less need to replicate his own experiences upon Little Wuhen. Freedom was good. Safety was good.
If Little Wuhen truly wished to cultivate immortality, Chen Xun would not forcibly stop him either. Once one lived to a certain age, one would always have to do the things suited to a certain stage of life. Everyone had always been this way; even he himself could not escape it.
Today, beneath bright sunshine, beside a mountain spring.
Little Wuhen held a small fishing rod, dazzling light bursting forth from his eyes as he quietly fished there.
The wooden cart was now mottled with the traces of time, its body covered in scratches and patches from their journey. It stood parked