The Daoist Scripture Hall was the same as ever, but many of the people Wang Ping knew were gone.
Zi Luan was also the same as ever, the smile on his face never wavering. Hongchen's descent into madness seemed to have no effect on him whatsoever. Perhaps his long years had exposed him to too many partings and deaths, leaving him numb to such things. His constant smile might have been a mask for this emotional numbness.
"Fellow Daoist Changqing, it's been a long time. I was originally thinking of working for another century and then having you take up the mantle of Pacification Envoy for Nanlin Road. But the Lord said you shouldn't be so constrained, so I'll have to use the next few decades to see who else in Nanlin Road can take my place."
Zi Luan spoke as if he considered Wang Ping an equal, a friend.
