It was night and there was no moon.
Wang Lin lied on the bed in the back of the store. There was a jug of wine beside him. He picked up the jug and took a drink. Wang Lin could feel that in this past year, he has managed to get rid of his mentality as a cultivator and has become more like a mortal.
Take this for example: he rarely cultivates at all now, but that would have been impossible before. In those 400 years of escaping and killing, he almost always had his spiritual energy surging in his body and would use any spare time he could find to raise his cultivation level. His life was filled with deadly schemes and life threatening dangers. If he was a bit less careful, he would have died.
He had never before lied down like this and slept. He spent most nights cultivating.
That type of life was very exciting and filled with passion, but it was filled with regret. It had no balance. That life was missing something.
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