"Yaoyao… Ignore him."
A weak voice came from that head with the grizzled hair and beard in the jug. Unexpectedly, he was still alive.
The reason that his voice was able to be transmitted wasn't because the old man had retained his power to this day, but because that young Xilin saint's power was too strong.
This was still a reflection of the heavens—a method of divine manifestation.
That jug actually wasn't outside of Earth. Just like this gentle and reserved man, it was millions and millions of kilometers away.
"Heh heh, Uncle Ming, I'm sorry. I see your whole life has been tiring. You've always been rushing about all over the place and always thinking about avenging the departed. Tell me, how many can you kill alone? Needing to still be in hiding is no better than living comfortably at my side."
The feminine man spoke lazily. He was unperturbed towards everything, and an indifferent smile hung on his face as he stared at the head in the jug.
