The small courtyard was tranquil, the bright moon like autumn sorrow, illuminating the three people, their shadows lingering.
The Zhang Family Ancestral Mansion had not been so lively as it was that night for many years.
The three stood in the courtyard, each with different emotions, each lost in their own thoughts.
Zhang Tianyang, calm as ever, was like the endless waters of Pearl Lake, a placid stretch of thousands of miles, impenetrable in its depth. This elder of the Southern Zhangs had just slain three Celestial Masters, shaking heaven and earth, defying all prohibitions. Yet in the blink of an eye, he had reverted to being a nondescript old man painting by the lakeside, untouched by even a trace of worldly dust.
Zhang Fan's eyes changed, filled with mixed emotions; he knew that the old man before him was one of the few close kin he had in this world.
After all, nearly all the Southern Zhangs were dead.
Standing on his homeland, how many were left?
