"Of course, these are all matters of the past."
Bai Shu chuckled.
As he spoke of this past event he was reluctant to mention, his tone still held a faint sadness, but it was no longer for himself.
Twenty years of hiding his identity.
If Zhou Jiren hadn't appeared at the darkest moment, perhaps he would still be waiting in the underground tavern, far from the hustle and bustle of the world, and as for the "Battle Fire," it would forever be unrelated to him.
Some things can only be picked up after being let go.
"Is hope the most useless thing?"
He looked at Gu Shen, and at this moment, no response was needed, as the answer was already clear.
Bai Shu reached out and waved toward the skytop over the wilderness, where a crack in the Heavenly Curtain was torn open, and a pitch-black spark slowly emerged from the crack, like a vertical pupil, constantly overflowing with a dark and ominous aura.
The inner mausoleum of Qingzhong Cemetery, where the weather changed unpredictably.
