"Could it be that he wants to reminisce with old friends before he dies?"
"Or perhaps..."
As various thoughts flashed through his mind, He Song's gaze once again swept over the paper in front of him.
He then carefully folded it and meticulously placed it in his storage bag.
In his storage bag,
papers like this had already filled a small corner.
No matter who it was or what the letter said, as long as someone sent a letter to He Song, he would keep it treasured.
Now, after accumulating for over a hundred years, He Song's storage bag had a small mountain of letters.
Of course, most of these papers were contributed by Su Qian.
Su Qian's letters were still increasing at a rate of one per month.
From the very beginning, He Song had thought about collecting these letters.
He was an everlasting being.
With an endless lifespan.
But those who knew him were not.
They were ordinary cultivators, with limited lifespans and destined to experience birth, aging, illness, and death.
