Xu Yong had died, the brother he had spent over seventy years with was gone.
Death is mankind's ultimate destination, and for cultivators, who often sought to defy the heavens, the journey was the most arduous of all.
Xu Xuan stood nearby, looking at the old man with his eyes closed, speechless for a long time as memories flooded his mind.
The so-called immortality, particularly immortality with memories, after experiencing too many joys and sorrows, separations and reunions, gradually makes one's heart like iron and stone.
To forget love supremely is not to be unfeeling from the beginning, but to have experienced too much.
In a certain sense, Xu Yong had achieved immortality. He had made contributions, practiced virtue, and left his mark. As long as the civilization of this realm did not perish, Xu Yong would always live on in people's hearts.
"Farewell."
Xu Xuan walked out of the hospital room and passed through the many corridors.
