The storm passed, and all was calm again.
The days passed, one by one.
Hidden away in a forgotten corner, with no Divinity Transformation masters threatening him, Lü Zhong could finally cultivate in peace. Every day, he either took Pills to refine his Qi, striving to bring his Magical Power to Perfection as soon as possible, or he delved into his Magic Skills, studying the profound mysteries of the Purple Sky Thunder Skill.
In his rare moments of leisure, he would also spend time with his family, cherishing their precious company.
Yet as his cultivation grew, so did his sensitivity to the pain of separation and death.
Dark hair at dawn, white as snow by dusk.
It was the perfect description.
Lü Zhong still clearly remembered his great-grandson, who had just been born in what felt like the blink of an eye. Yet by the time he next emerged from seclusion to see him again, the child was already a decrepit old man, or had long since turned to dust.
