"Respected Elder."
Zhao Zhenfeng knelt down in front of the tent and bowed his head.
"You are...?"
An old and weak voice, piercing through the heavy veil of rain, accurately reached Zhao Zhenfeng's ears.
Zhao Zhenfeng slightly raised his eyebrows.
The scene inside the tent came into view.
In the small tent, a hunched and emaciated figure sat cross-legged.
The dry and thin body, with sagging skin, revealed the outline of bones.
Scars crisscrossed his body, a testament to numerous old wounds now healed.
Wrapping his face were wrinkles and scars, only his eyes were clear and full of will.
As Zhao Zhenfeng raised his eyes, they met those of the old man.
In that moment.
Zhao Zhenfeng was a bit lost.
What kind of eyes were these?
Hidden within them seemed to be a brilliant galaxy, the passage of time, composing the universe.
Sometimes as clear as a child, sometimes as unyielding as a young man, sometimes as worldly-wise as an elder.
For a moment.
