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... ers of deep, ink-black halos rippled out from Hong Yuan's body.
They spread rapidly, interweaving and coalescing into an Emperor's dragon robe that draped over him, bestowing a solemn and sacred air.
The Son of Heaven? No, the Heavens themselves!
Hong Yuan's gaze was indifferent and devoid of emotion, his temperament growing even colder and more solitary.
If the heavens had feelings, they too would age. The Great Taoism is without emotion, supremely impartial.
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