Seeing the person on the riverbank, the old man was as stupefied as a wooden chicken.
He could see a man standing on the bank ten paces away, a man in white, purer than snow, with a graceful demeanor.
He would never forget that face even if he died.
It was the turning point of his fate; from that moment, his life began to change. It might have been just a speck of dust in the eyes of an Immortal, but it was a mountain of wealth that transformed his destiny.
All of a sudden, time seemed to flow backward, and seeing that person's youthful appearance, he felt as though he had returned to forty years ago.
In the prime of life, carefree and without worries.
After forty years of vicissitudes, seeing this person's unchanged appearance and his own aged, weathered face, his heart was filled with endless sighs.
Honors, love, family, treasures... all were ultimately illusions that faded away in the end, and he too would become a handful of yellow soil.
