"Lu Qingzhu, you deserve to die..."
Ning Ling's words struck Lu Qingzhu's sore spots, infuriating him, "Enough, old man, what do you know? You've lived long enough; I haven't. When I was in my twenties, I suffered this great calamity, wasting the most important decades of my life. How could you possibly understand my unwillingness?
In the first ten years, I often consoled myself, stating that giving up my life in exchange for the future leader of Philosophy was a gain, especially since I hadn't died yet. But, but... that incessant battle with Wang Jingyang's ghost for life, constantly having death lurking by my side, how could you possibly understand this feeling?"
Lu Qingzhu suddenly lifted his head, a strong life force emerging in his dying body. With his sickly face and graying hair, under this life force, his hair turned pitch black, and he looked as if he were in his prime again.
