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Yin and yang complemented each other. Everything had its natural laws.
Underneath the black-and-white portrait, Ye Qing’s bones were popping, his muscles were groaning, and blood was pouring out of his pores. The bleed was so bad that his black hair was dyed red, and his expression grew increasingly contorted.
Right now, Ye Qing felt like wheat caught inside a mill. The millstone was slowly but surely grinding his body into powder.
If the Great Way was similar to a millstone, then time was a merciless killer.
A hundred generations could turn even the thickest blood into water, and all life was naught but a finite journey.
The millstone that was the Great Way and time could grind everything down into nothing, so how could a man possibly be exempt from the rule?
As the black-and-white portrait continued to rotate, Ye Qing’s body slowly twisted into an indescribable shape. To give an example, it was like a pair of invisible hands had grabbed his head and his legs before...
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