The movement at his fingertips brought no joy.
Xu Xiaoshou had almost forgotten why he was here, why he came, whether he should leave.
The only things he persisted in without questioning the reason were just two:
One, turn around, and face time.
Two, cultivate intent, using the confinements here to hone himself.
...
"Swish!"
The sound of the river of time swished past his ears.
Ten thousand years? Thirty thousand years? It's uncertain how many tens of thousands of years had gone by.
In between, he moved several times; the touchable self—from eyelids, to fingertips, to heartbeat, and finally, he felt the existence of his neck...
Xu Xiaoshou finally turned his head.
He forgot why he wanted to turn, why he wanted to turn his head.
But when he completed the action, as his gaze swept past, it was as if he saw the river of time for the first time, overawed by its grandeur.
"Boom!"
