Seven or eight years ago, you were a cold, a young girl who stood beneath the moon and accepted the Cosmetic Cultivation Pill. Now, seven or eight years later, here you are, your face pale, but smiling.
Seven or eight years ago I was a scholar standing on Mount Daqing who threw a gourd bottle down the mountain. You will never know the promise I placed in that gourd bottle.
Seven or eight years later, here I stand, my killing intent billowing to the Heavens. The road behind me doesn’t stretch very far, but it is filled with the bones of Cultivators.
Seven or eight years….