The old Siming shouted loudly, then began to cough violently, spitting a cloud of volcanic ash from his mouth. This Yin Yang Family Grandmaster looked even more bedraggled than before.
He resembled someone who had crawled out of a burning building.
His clothes were full of holes of varying sizes, his white hair standing up like it had exploded, and he had a fair amount of black dust on him. The old Mystic Turtle was also in a pitiful state.
The old Siming raised his head, looked around, and saw the silver-haired man sitting by the volcano, dressed in a black robe. His silver hair was tied with a strand of flowing wind, holding only a fishing rod, fishing in the molten lava of the volcano, his expression calm and vast, like an immortal being.
This formed a stark contrast with the bedraggled old Siming.
This place was not ordinary fire, even sharp treasure weapons would melt instantly.
Yet he stood apart, seemingly unaffected.
