“In the Age of Declining Dharma, immortals and gods flee, the myriad paths vanish, the heavens fall, and the hundred races perish...
Yet the Great Dao is fifty, of which it uses forty-nine; the last escapes. In the depths of fate, Heaven has its will, and under the bright sun there is always a glimmer of hope.”
“Old man, you might not be able to find that one that escaped, but if you don’t eat this stewed chicken now, it’ll be gone!”
“Hey, hey, hey! When I’m getting sentimental, could you at least give me a serious response?”
“Forget it. That stuff takes brainpower. Not even eight or ten stewed chickens could make up for it.”
“You little brat…”
“Take it easy… Just eat your fill and get some sleep. In your dreams, you’ll find not only the one that escaped, but the Great Dao itself!”
“Get lost!”
“ε=(´ο`*))) Sigh, sure thing!”
Add some oil yourself [full] Alas, no one is reading it. I feel so melancholy. I really want to chat with my book friends!