Dragon-Subduing Arhat gazed deeply at Cold Crow Pass. The figures of the Demon Cultivators patrolling the walls were as minuscule as ants. "...This man's fate is now intertwined with mine. I cannot kill him today. In the next life... we will surely meet again."
As his final word fell, the dragon tattoo on his neck completely faded, like an ancient lamp burning out.
Chenmu and Ci Hang exchanged a look, each seeing understanding in the other's eyes.
Dragon-Subduing Arhat's surrounding Buddha Light gradually dimmed. The tattoo on his neck, which once coiled like a golden dragon, had now lost all its luster, becoming as wrinkled and withered as old tree bark.
The aura of this old Arhat, who had been in Cultivation for nearly four hundred years, was decaying at a shocking rate. Like an autumn leaf touched by frost, he showed signs of his life force being completely depleted in the blink of an eye.
