Above the void, the remnants of slaughter linger.
Marquis Wushang's vertical eye on his brow slowly closed, the bloodstains on his dark battle armor congealing like cinnabar, most of the blood aura surrounding him dissipated, as he bowed deeply to Qin Cangwu:
"Brother Daoist, this foolish brother was powerless, unable to save our wise nephew Changkong. I am ashamed towards you, ashamed towards the Qin Clan!"
Qin Cangwu slowly turned, his white robe snowier than snow, the lingering sharpness of battle on his robe now completely covered by a bottomless layer of sorrow.
He gently raised his hand, lightly supporting Marquis Wushang:
"You speak too heavily, young brother. The enemy is cunning, the incident abrupt; how can Changkong's matter be blamed on you?"
"How can it not be blamed!"
Marquis Wushang suddenly lifted his head, his eyes red as blood, veins on his forehead slightly pulsating.
