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Within the Gallery of Shili, Fang Yang's robe fluttered wildly as he embraced his disciple, Ye Qinghong, with a smirk that wasn't quite a smirk, gazing at the black-robed Physician Monk before him.
The other party had already reached a state of utter depletion, like an oil lamp burning out; his vitality nearly snuffed out, incredibly weak. Upon hearing Fang Yang's words, he coughed up a few mouthfuls of golden blood.
"To tell the truth, I am rather grateful to you. Without you, I couldn't have taken down the Demon Empress, entered the Mountain Sea Demon Realm, or married my own disciple. You've helped me...so much..."
A sigh of emotion was filled with such sincerity.
"Pff!"
The moment these words left his lips, the already distressed black-robed monk could no longer hold on.
As he spat out another mouthful of blood, the incense stick that had remained embedded in his chest finally went out completely.
The flickering flame dissipated into nothingness.
