After a long silence, he finally spoke: "Hey, are you drinking?"
Wu Buxu's white hair fluttered lightly. His head tilted slightly, as if he had perceived the shift in Chen Yi's inner state, but he only smiled.
Chen Yi stepped closer, reaching into the Square Land to retrieve a wine gourd and two wine cups.
"Are you drinking?" Chen Yi asked once more.
This time, Wu Buxu finally turned his head, gave him a glance, and said:
"Drinking with me? You're not qualified."
Chen Yi seemed unfazed and drank on his own, a faint blush rising to his cheeks.
Thunder roared, stirring up the centuries-old desolate air of the Sword Pool. No matter how the fierce winds surged, they could neither scatter nor disperse it; instead, the force seemed trapped, crushed, ground into fragments, and fused with the desolation itself.
The old man was among it.
"When did you start wielding a sword?" he suddenly asked.
