“Get up.” Chen Ping spoke, his voice calm, “The one kneeling to you is your ancestor, not me.” Got up and spoke. ”
Venerable Xuanbing did not get up immediately.
He knelt for three breaths, then slowly stood up.
His eyes were slightly red—not crying, but the instinctive physiological reaction of an elderly man who had lived tens of thousands of years in extreme excitement.
He looked into Chen Ping’s eyes; those purple eyes held no pride or condescending, only calmness.
That calmness suddenly made him understand why the ancestor chose to reside within this young man’s sea of consciousness.
It wasn’t a coincidence, not luck, but rather a different young man from the start.
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