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The forty-fifth year of Daxia.
Gu Wen was sixty years old and twenty years away from the deadline of his Fate Diagram.
The house had become increasingly dilapidated, the courtyard was full of weeds, and a Taoist squatted at the door, seemingly having been waiting for DAYS.
His cyan Daoist robe was ragged, a blade of grass dangling from his mouth, a black and white cat cradled in his arms.
Yu Hua descended from the sky, saw the ruined house, and said with a hint of complaint, "Didn't I ask you to repair the house before I left? I didn't ask for luxury but at least make it livable."
"Fearing neither heat nor cold, carefree—that is the true cultivator."
Gu Wen lay on the ground, looking up at Yu Hua, unable to make out even her chin clearly.
