"Changtian, what did you see?"
"Father, your cultivation keeps rising."
"....."
Rain strikes the window lattice, wind stirs the incense.
Xu Yinhè sat upright, his expression calm and serene, his deep and steady voice devoid of ripples:
"You're mistaken."
Xu Yuan hesitated slightly, staring intently at the middle-aged man before him:
"What... does that mean?"
"To perceive the changes in your father's cultivation is already impressive."
Xu Yinhè smiled faintly, suddenly sealing his cultivation.
At that moment, Xu Yuan's Spiritual Vision plunged into darkness. Startled, he heard his father slowly utter:
"But your father's cultivation isn't increasing. It is restoring."
"....." Xu Yuan's eyelids twitched.
Xu Yinhè raised his hand, lifting the cup before him and downing its contents. A trace of reminiscence flickered in his gaze:
