While he was traveling through the mountain, she was waiting quietly in Chang'an City.
Different people in different places felt a different coldness despite experiencing the same winter. Fortunately, the night was fair enough to submerge both the Tianqi Mountains as well as the city in darkness. In the late winter of Lin 47th Street, the Old Brush Pen Shop once again ushered in a typical night.
Sangsang was seated on a small bench in the small courtyard, watching the white light dancing on her fingertips. The light illuminated her little tan face and made her willow-shape eyes look brighter, as if she was longing for something.
The old man looked at her with a smile, his hands hidden in sleeves. The cotton-padded jacket on his body was much cleaner now and his grey hair was combed over neatly. He still looked as ordinary and unassuming as ever, making it hard for people to believe that he was the Great Divine Priest of Light of the West-Hill Divine Palace.
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