The night was deep.
Teng Zhao hid in a corner of the eaves, watching Qin Liuxi and Feng Xiu step into the void, tears silently falling until a handkerchief appeared before his eyes.
He slightly turned his head, not accepting it.
"Hurry, wipe it off. If someone sees you, it'll be embarrassing." Little Ginseng clicked his tongue: "Don't act like a poor little thing. Have you forgotten what we talked about before?"
Teng Zhao turned his head, a cold look on his face: "I must go."
"That's it." Little Ginseng wiped his face himself, saying: "It's not just you; cultivators from all over the world will go."
Teng Zhao looked towards the main hall of Qingping Temple and said: "But Master wouldn't want me to appear at that scene. She would prefer to see Qingping Temple's heritage continue."
