Liu still wore that camellia-colored silk-padded robe.
Recently, he had immersed himself in the study of music, intoxicated and obsessed, yet showed no sign of slimming down. His belly was round, his face full of prosperity.
With the ancestral temple rituals concluded, it seemed that even the important matters of the fourteenth generation of Mount Heng had been settled in a trance.
Time doesn't stand still, years spare no one.
Watching the young Sect Leader exude a spirited demeanor, holding the four volumes of the divine sword manual, his body emanating Sword Qi, truly moved Liu, prompting him to reminisce about old times.
He stroked his short beard and glanced towards his senior and junior fellow disciples.
Liu sighed softly:
"Months resemble one another, each year is different. Peering into the ancient mirror at dawn, my traveler's image closely resembles an aging man."
Fang Qianju also said:
