"Thirty-seven years." The middle-aged cultivator repeated, shaking his head in reflection, "Thirty-seven years ago, you were the most promising young Pill Master in the Alchemy Hall. At that time, there were high hopes resting upon you, considered to be the future Vice Hall Master, and maybe even the Hall Master. But now? You set up a stall in the Black Market, and if cultivators can't recognize the goods, they just consider your elixir pills ordinary."
Cloud Wanderer did not respond.
He reached under a piece of ragged cloth and pulled out a rough clay teacup and a water pouch, pouring half a cup of water, sipping leisurely. The water was cool, but he didn't mind and drank comfortably, as if savoring some nectar.
The middle-aged cultivator looked at his laid-back demeanor, slightly furrowing his brow, then relaxed.
"You really don't feel any regret?" He pursued.
Cloud Wanderer chuckled, "Not at all."
