Green Mountain Sect.
Those three words carried all of Miles Ning’s emotions, like a soft whisper of remembrance, and like a blazing roar of memory.
Drip.
Tears fell from that deeply lined, aged face.
For some reason, when the teardrops struck the bluestone paving at Green Mountain Sect’s main gate, they shattered into crystalline, dazzling light—mysterious, indescribable, and wondrous.
Drip.
Step by step, Miles Ning returned to Green Mountain Sect.
In that moment, he was like an ancient beast awakening—eyes fierce and wild, yet flooded with sorrow and grief.
"Master?"
Andrew Han stood dazed before the main gate.
Ask yourself.
Who could imagine that someone as erratic and unpredictable as Miles Ning would also have moments of pain and tears? This was emotion and nature distilled to its deepest core, moving Andrew Han to silence and awe.
Ask yourself.
Does Miles Ning deserve sympathy?
Andrew Han searched his heart but found no answer. He simply watched Miles Ning’s hunched back as he entered the main gate and walked on along the dust-laden path.
Looking out across the scene.
First came Green Mountain Sect’s imposing main gate, then the grand hall, and finally the living quarters.
Everything was clear at a glance, with no strange phenomena.
No mystery, no splendor—only the solitude buried beneath sea winds and drifting sand.
It was unexpected, yet perfectly logical. After all, Green Mountain Sect was located on an island in the East Sinoveran Sea, more than a hundred kilometers from Seafoam Capital.