The depths of the land of cold fall.
“According to Elder Taiyu’s hexagram, my chance should be here, but why hasn’t it been seen after wandering for a long time?”
A green-clothed female cultivator walks in the cloudless miasma, accompanied by a cultivator who is covered in black robe. The cultivator’s voice is clear, and it sounds like he was not old last year:
“Sister Mu Jiang, what is a chance? When time is not there, naturally there will be no chance.”
“It’s not time?”
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