Chapter 120: The Diverging Paths

Time, to an immortal cultivator, was a vast and largely meaningless ocean. A secluded meditation session could last a century, and the opening of a single mystic realm might span a millennium. Cultivators hoarded time, locking themselves away in temporal artifacts, treating the passage of years as mere numbers.

But in the mortal world, time was a precious currency. It was spent in breaths, in seasons, and in the rapid, irreversible growth of the people you loved.

Five years passed over Qingshui Town like the swift, decisive turn of a page.