It was like the gathering and scattering of clouds and mist, the flitting of wind and rain.
A feeling of a severed cause and effect arose within Cang Linzu, prompting sudden memories of friends within the manor.
Zhang Ying, Zhan Feng, Ye Xiuyuan, Zhao Yong'an, Xie Pinglan...
—I am not a match for An. Cang Linzu thought to himself. He couldn't recall all his friends' names, even their faces were becoming blurry; his memory was excellent, so there was only one reason for his forgetfulness—he had already begun to let go.
But did he truly want to forget? In the past, he could soothe himself with thoughts of "we will meet again in the future," but now, knowing that they had long been dead, turned into corpses, white bones, and great medicines...
Ha ha. Cang Linzu thought calmly, "An seems to be quite troubled. He's probably wondering if it's a bit too much that he wanted to defy the master but dragged us into it."
