Nanshan Temple, back mountain.
It wasn't until a full half an hour after Song Yan and Ju Luyi had left that a figure slowly emerged from the woods.
...
His body swayed, his limbs were stiff, and he stumbled as he walked.
He was out of breath after only a few steps.
His face was pale and bloodless, and there was a fatal wound on his chest, where the blood had already congealed.
He practically crawled on all fours to the front of where Song Yan had buried the Nanshan Temple Disciples.
It was not a young face; his once distinct features were now painfully contorted.
His expression was one of unbearable grief, yet not a single tear could fall.
He wanted to roar in sorrow, but no sound escaped him.
His hands slammed heavily onto the ground, gripping the dirt fiercely, so hard that his knuckles cracked.
After a long while, he despairingly raised his head, gazed at the sky, and stared blankly.
...
If Song Yan were here, he would undoubtedly be incredibly surprised.
