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Time flies by, and another two years have swiftly passed.
This year, Ning Daoran is sixty-five years old.
Although he still looks like a youth, his mental state has been tempered considerably, so much so that he longs to call himself "old man" when meeting people.
Early morning, at Qiongbi Peak.
Among the mists, the mountain peaks are rich in spiritual energy.
Ning Daoran, dressed in a deep blue elder's robe of the Outer Sect, likes this outfit very much as it looks mightier than those worn by the mud-legged Outer Disciples.
In the backyard, at the fish pond.
"Little Blackie!"
"Squeak~~~"
Amidst the loud call, the big black fish jumps out of the water.
Now measuring nearly ten meters in length, it remains a first-tier late stage demon beast—a true salted fish.
Ning Daoran glances at his storage bag and takes out the last piece of Black Jiao meat.
This piece of Black Jiao meat, weighing only ten pounds, is the last one.
"Catch!"
