But now, his hair is completely white, the skin on his face lacks any gloss, pale, shriveled, like land drained of all vitality, like crumpled white paper piled together and left untouched for countless years.
His flesh and blood have dried up, resembling those of the old and dying.
The bones of his cheeks can barely hold onto the flesh, his whole person showing prominent cheekbones; even his eyebrows are white. The Azure Dragon-patterned dark blue imperial robe that once perfectly suited him now appears somewhat empty.
When the wind blows, it feels like strips of cloth hanging on white bones.
But, even so.
The eyes beneath those white eyebrows still burn fiercely, still like fire.
The tiger dies but doesn't collapse.
The dragon is the same.
People, too, are like this.
Ji Zichang murmured softly, "So it is... You have grown old, my friend."
