"Come over here."
Zhang Fusheng murmured to himself:
"I'm just a solitary grave in the desolate wilderness... Such am I, and who isn't?"
"Gods and Immortals, no matter how immortal, eventually become a handful of yellow earth, a solitary ancient grave."
He saw year after year, age after age.
The name on the ancient tombstone gradually blurred, beaten away by the passing years of wind.
Thus it is.
The eighth Form and Spirit, the Ancient Tomb Form, is complete.
Zhang Fusheng sighed softly, a sigh filled with untold vicissitudes.
The alley remained silent.
He raised his eyes; the Ancient Tomb Form did not manifest on the body like the previous seven forms.
The Ancient Tomb Form seemed to manifest 'upon the spirit,' 'upon the soul.'
Zhang Fusheng looked again at the alley.
The alley was no longer an alley.
He unexpectedly saw the essence of the alley in reality — or perhaps, after comprehending the Ancient Tomb Form,
