Returning To The Capital To Beg For A Position

"I just don't understand how you can still hang on." There was no one else in the quiet room. Fan Xian sat on a chair by the bed and spoke quietly to the shriveled old man on the bed. "Hanging on is so tough, why bother?"

Fan Xian still felt some fear toward this Great Grandmaster. Otherwise, given the scathing nature under his gentle appearance, his words would be far uglier. Although Sigu Jian was already at the end of his life, Fan Xian was still afraid that the shriveled old man on the bed would suddenly become a large sword and split him open ruthlessly.

Sigu Jian laid on the bed, staring spiritlessly upward. Although his breathing was not rushed, it was unusually distant. It sounded like a broken bellow, constantly giving one the sense that the fire in the stove was about to be extinguished.