Time passed like flowing water. Zhang Wenchang was shrouded in a heavy gloom, completely devoid of youthful vigor. In fact, his appearance was so aged that no one would believe he was a young man.
"Boss, bring a jar of wine and four small dishes," Ye Fan said as he walked into the simple tavern.
Zhang Wenchang answered woodenly, like a heartless scarecrow. He mechanically brought over the wine jar and silently served the four dishes without uttering a single word.
"This useless old man is like the walking dead; you can hardly squeeze a word out of him. You heard what I just said to you, didn't you?" one of the young men said with disgust.
"I heard." Zhang Wenchang's eyes were dim as he slowly cleaned up the tableware and wiped the table.
Having inexplicably arrived in this world, he lacked any talent for cultivation and suffered constant bullying from his fellow sect members. These past few years had been spent in quiet sorrow and decay, silently bearing it all.
