Time slips away like an arrow, and the years pass with a swift glance.
Those dry yet fulfilling decades of cultivation sped by, over forty years gone in the blink of an eye.
Forty-some years, neither short nor long, but for Chen Dengming, it felt like a mere blink within the Cultivation World.
Everything seemed to have happened only yesterday, like the death of Xu Wei, like the passing of his son, Chen Jing, thirty-nine years ago, his re-entry to Nanxun, the elder sending off the younger.
The life of a mortal or a low-level cultivator differs little.
They come in haste and leave in haste.
No matter how glorious and powerful one is in life, in death one is merely a clod of earth, occupying but a small patch of land.
All these events, from past to present, etched in Chen Dengming's memory as if they had happened recently, evoking a sense of temporal disarray after a long retreat.
In the end, his first thirty-some years in the Cultivation World were too rich and splendid.
