The setting sun is like blood, descending in the west.
In front of the ruined temple, that terrifying figure staggered back here, with a strange Treasure Horn seemingly integrated into his chest, its root-like veins spreading like a network.
His chest was like a volcano about to erupt, emitting a faint glow, his entire body shrouded in mist, hair like Withered Wood, bones inside decaying like rusty metal, creaking and groaning.
The Five Elements were in conflict, chaos akin to mourning.
This master of the Wuwei Sect was finally reaching the end of his life. Despite his unmatched Divine Techniques, despite his Profound Techniques beyond compare... he would still die here, unable to see the hope of Longevity.
"Pure Yang..."
"Of the countless Seekers of Immortality throughout history, how many have achieved Pure Yang!?"
The golden river flows eastward, like the passing time slipping away unnoticed.
