"This is the Undying Grass?"
Wang Yan took the cloth bag handed over by Chen Jichuan and opened it. Inside were five delicate, vibrant stalks of grass, each radiating a flourishing vitality that was simply invigorating to behold.
"A single stalk of Undying Grass can extend one's lifespan by two hundred years."
"With five stalks, that's a thousand years. Junior Master is already in the Void Realm—doesn't that mean he could live to be one thousand three hundred years old?"
Wang Yan stared at the Undying Grass, then back at Chen Jichuan, clicking his tongue in amazement.
One thousand three hundred years.
It was terrifying.
In the entire history of Central Earth, which spans less than ten thousand recorded years, a single person living through one-tenth of that history might as well be called 'living history.'
"One thousand three hundred years?"
