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UNedited Chapter - Rubble
Long Zhiming’s disposition had always been gentle and unruffled, but he was, ultimately, the Dragon Lord. Not even the Divine Regents of the Kingdoms of God had ever compelled him to pay such a solemn respect.
At this moment, though, the dragon who was like an ancient mountain that had propped up the dragons for a million years had finally, in the twilight of his existence, willingly bent his spine before another.
The draconic radiance in the hall was still flickering chaotically amidst the ceaseless tremors. It was also distorting his deeply bowed silhouette.
Long Chixin and Long Qianxin froze for a moment. Then, they hurried forward not to help Long Zhiming to his feet, but to kneel behind him. Their posture was far lower than that of the Dragon Lord; their heads, a symbol of the Ancestral Dragon’s dignity, hung so low that they were almost touching the ground.
Yun Che lowered his gaze.
From his lofty vantage point, he looked down upon the three figures prostrating themselves before him—the three mightiest Ancestral Dragons of the entire dragon race.
Yet this sight failed to stir even the slightest trace of triumph or satisfaction within him. For a fleeting moment, a dim, ominous glow flickered in his eyes, seeping from the depths of his soul.
But what bloomed on his face was a faint look of dread.
“Senior Dragon Lord, you must not!”
He took a step forward and grasped Long Zhiming’s still trembling arms with both hands. “Such a great honor is beyond the reach of anyone besides the Pure Land. It is far too much for this junior!”
As their hands touched, the gaunt contours of Long Zhiming’s bones became clearly visible through his robes. He resembled an ancient tree that had been stripped of all vitality by the passage of time.
Yet it was this dying shell of a dragon who continued to prop up the entire dragon race, unwilling to depart and terrified of passing away, all because standing behind his withered frame was Long Wangchu, a failure of a dragon who was worse than even a useless piece of garbage.
How pitiful, how tragic, how… loathsome!
Meng Chaoyang lowered his eye lids, his chest heaving slightly… the Dragon Lord’s extraordinary bow was indeed born of gratitude, yet was it not, in a sense, a form of coercion?
Despite Yun Che’s attempt to lift him, Long Zhiming would remain in his bowing posture for several long breaths before finally rising. When he looked up, tears were streaming down the deep furrows of his aged face.
Those old eyes, drenched in tears,...
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