"The Ancestral Dragon is dead!"
The gates of Changsheng Platform swung open as the messenger boy stumbled and tumbled in, shouting at the top of his lungs.
Ying Zheng is dead?
"The Ancestral Dragon is dead!"
He raised the silk in his hand high above his head, as if holding some terrifying, fulfilled prophecy.
I took the silk from his trembling hands. The vivid painting on it depicted a carriage, and lying inside the carriage was the emperor I knew so well, Ying Zheng.
But.
"He is not dead!"
Looking at the young man accompanying the carriage in the painting, who bore an uncanny resemblance to a young Ying Zheng, I roared,
"In pursuit of immortality, he is no longer human!"
