The cold night breeze scattered the dust.
In the ruins, Zhou Dao held Old Wu's corpse, feeling for the first time the impermanence of life.
He had no grudge against Old Wu, only differing positions.
This battle severed connections and gratitude.
"Everyone in this world has attachments!" Zhou Dao murmured softly.
Old Wu's attachment was the great kindness of the Imperial Spirit Palace.
His life was given by the Imperial Spirit Palace. If not for them, he might have died in that great disaster long ago, just like his mother, devoured by others after death, instead of stepping on the path of cultivation and achieving such earth-shattering power.
With this attachment, Old Wu had no other choice.
Perhaps for him, death was the best outcome—repaying the Imperial Spirit Palace's favor and fulfilling his friendship with Zhou Dao.
"Fool!"
Zhou Dao clenched his fists, lowered his head, and gritted his teeth.