On the Flood Dragon's back, the Red-Robed Daoist gazed into the sky, the sea breeze flapping his sleeves with a rustling sound.
Under numerous curious, wary, and mostly reverent gazes, his expression remained calm as his form ascended steadily, eventually stepping onto the luxurious flying boat.
His eyes swept past the figures of several young cultivators before ultimately settling on an elderly man with a fully white beard and hair, his face full of wrinkles.
"Elder Sang, it's been a long time. How have you been recently?"
Sang Jiugong's withered face scrunched into an expression that seemed uncertain—whether it was a bitter smile or something else—there was undoubtedly a hint of reluctance.
He cupped his hands towards Luo Chen. "Neither well nor ill, just some minor setbacks. Come, please follow me; let's chat inside."
Luo Chen's gaze lingered briefly on him, sensing that Sang Jiugong's aura seemed somehow different from before.
