In just a matter of breaths, the mana he could almost call inexhaustible had been drained by thirty percent.
He could already calculate how much longer he could hold on.
Death was approaching, but Lu Qingshan remained incredibly calm.
He had been through so much, sacrificed so many people, and now the most crucial moment had finally arrived.
Lu Qingshan took a deep breath.
He began to recite.
Word by word, he recited.
"Dust".
"Mist".
"Of the".
"Tiny".
"....".
"Add".
"Glow".
"Sun".
"Moon".
Sixteen characters in total, forming a sentence.
The last words the Ancestral Patriarch Xia left him.
"The tiny dust and mist enhance the mountains and seas, the unlit candle adds brilliance to the sun and moon."
"I understand now."
He understood not only the "one", but also this sentence.
Chu Mu had once said:
A falling star can't dim the splendor of the starry sky; a withering flower can't desolate the entire spring.
The reverse is also true.
