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Li Yuanjiao rode the wind along the northern foothills of Mount Dali, the mountains and rivers passing swiftly beneath him. Spirit mist poured out of the Profound Patterned Bottle, shrouding him as he flew onward with his hands clasped behind his back, his expression calm and composed.
Xijun should be able to manage it... Although the old man is stubborn, he is aging and in poor health. A little tact might coax him out.
Li Yuanjiao's face darkened. He had always felt dissatisfied with Li Xuanxuan's neglect of his own health.
He really likes dragging things out…
Li Yuanjiao suddenly recalled a moment from his youth when his mother, Mu Yalu, had sat with him alone in the yard. She was still young then, with her flowing silky hair draping over her shoulders.
She always told him gently—"Your father… is a very boring man. He loves only one thing...
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