Yang Jing didn't immediately begin cultivating. Instead, he walked straight to the meditation cushion in the corner of the Training Room and sat down cross-legged.
He knew his mind was in turmoil. Training rashly would not only make it difficult to progress, but his restless state could also cause his Inner Qi to fall into disarray, damaging the very foundation of his Martial Dao.
He first needed to adjust his condition and let his agitated mind settle.
The moment he closed his eyes to focus, the faces of the crowd below Feather Peak surfaced in his mind.
The unconcealable worry and heartache in Sun Ningxiang's eyes, the somber look on Lin Ziheng's face, the resentment on Fang He's, Yan Chenglong's unspoken sigh…
These images flooded his mind like a tide, and he couldn't help but laugh at himself.
'Who would have thought? After all these years since I transmigrated to this world, I can still lose my composure this easily.'
