Scene after scene flashed by rapidly.
It was clear that only during his youth did people and events stir ripples in his heart.
Many things that followed, even if earth-shattering, could hardly leave much of a mark.
"Dingding."
A voice, tender and kind.
Jiang Ding was startled.
His eyes reddened slightly.
He drew his sword.
With one slash, he cut through the illusion.
Without even a glance, he dispersed the nascent phantom before it could fully appear.
The killing intent was bone-chilling.
"My grandparents,"
"are not something just any Tom, Dick, or Harry can impersonate. You're unworthy."
Jiang Ding whispered, his voice spreading icy killing intent outward: "Hurry up, cherish the little time you have left. I'm about to lock onto you, just a little more, and you'll be dead."
An intangible panic flashed by and then vanished.