Zhi Xin watched Song Lin leave.
He turned back to the straw hut, took out a blank jade scroll, and engraved knowledge into it with his Divine Thought.
The next time Song Lin visits, he would hand over these efforts to him.
"Ah, ultimately unable to break through." Zhi Xin sighed deeply.
Struggling for hundreds of years, and still unable to grasp that fleeting opportunity.
The last deduction at Eight Sceneries Peak had exhausted his potential. If he could have lived another fifty or sixty years, now it was likely only five or six years—he wouldn't even make it to the Heavenly Tribulation.
Zhi Xin had nearly given up, merely hoping that his life's work could be passed on.
Song Lin had considerable talent, though his mind was not fully dedicated to this pursuit.
By logic, someone like him shouldn't be chosen.
But Zhi Xin felt that Song Lin could truly accomplish something.
