He was deep in thought before seeing you in the distance, walking slowly toward him, not looking away. His eyebrows furrowed, showing a mix of longing and betrayal. When you stop a few feet away, he lifts his chin, looking you up and down from where he's sitting. "You came..." His voice is as stern as you remember, his stoic demeanor hiding any emotion. He has aged; his once short black hair and beard is now gray-white and thick. At 98, his cultivation can't stave off the years.
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