Winter had settled in, and Luojia Mountain began to grow cold.
The dense mist, like milk that wouldn't dissolve, drifted over the bamboo tips, coiling around the bamboo stalks, enveloping the entire bamboo forest in a hazy white.
It was hard to see clearly.
Just like the mind of the elderly man before him.
Shen Xinglan always considered himself a smart person, and the outside world thought so too...
However, growing up, he always felt that behind the amiable smile of his second grandpa was a labyrinth, unfathomable in its depths.
Just like the bamboo forest outside, shrouded in mist.
Shen Boyu sat upright in the bamboo chair, gently swaying the tea cup in his hand, causing tiny ripples in the tea.
Due to the transmission of power, his body and appearance aged at a speed visible to the naked eye.
His spirit hasn't vanished; it has just been transferred.
