Yang Jiao suddenly widened his eyes, how could his master be associated with that cold and ruthless Heavenly Emperor? A sense of panic surged in his heart.
Bai Jin pointed a finger towards Yang Jiao, and in an instant, space distorted, bringing them both above a small village. Wisps of cooking smoke rose from the sparse village, with villagers moving to and fro, and children laughing and running around, peaceful and natural.
Yang Jiao was momentarily dazed, murmuring: "This is my home."
Two boys holding hands with a girl dashed out from a thatched cottage, laughing while sliding up and down a dirt slope, getting covered in dust.
Yang Jiao suddenly stepped forward, instinctively shouting, "Sister~" then his expression dimmed, realizing these were scenes of the past, unreachable, forever gone, his gaze fixed on the laughing little girl, his eyes welling up with tears, fists tightly clenched.
