North Liao

In the Kunlun Snow Palace, a sage once said, those who pass away wander, while the living cannot let go. 
Once the soul departs, it will wither like the autumn grass. 
Those who are reborn from the dead, existing apart from the mortal realm, shall be shunned by all celestial sects and smitten as undead demons. 
On this day, a youth awakens from within a coffin, his blood dry and his bones chilled, to find himself a century old upon opening his eyes. 
A single tear from a sage awaited, a constant companion, may unravel the dreams of the past. 
Seeking not immortality but a mundane death, not to lament with the ages over lost love and resentment, but only wishing to grow old with tenderness in this lifetime, beneath the white clouds that hold no envy for the heavenly realms.

Journey to the End of the Night

Fang Geyu had finished off a bottle of sweet milk, which sat beside her.


She cradled a bowl of mutton and radish soup, squatting curled up like a cat, blowing on the steaming mist rising from the soup bowl.


Every so often, she'd slurp a mouthful along the edge of the bowl, seemingly stimulated by the taste, her eyes squinting like a cat's, losing some of her arrogance and aloofness, and gaining a touch of warm, lazy cuteness.


Jin Sheng showed no politeness, flinging his arms about as he devoured his food, his injured right hand apparently not slowing down his chopstick-wielding speed.


He panted as he ate, sweating profusely from the spice, but still praised aloud, "Kid, you have some real skill, this mutton soup looks milky white and tempting, but it sure is spicy, damn invigorating!"


Lin Yuan couldn't handle spice and didn't eat much; after a few bites of side dishes, he squatted there, resting his chin in his hands, watching Baili An.


Chapter 121: Youth Doesn't Know the Chill at the Fisherman's Mouth