Amitabha!
A phrase often spoken by monks, usually quite ordinary when uttered. However, this voice carried a peaceful aura, making those who heard it feel as if bathed in a spring breeze, and seemed to cleanse one's soul, causing Ye Xunhuan's heart to tremble!
"Who!"
The next moment, a monk dressed in a grey robe, with prayer beads hanging around his neck and holding prayer beads in his hand, with snow-white eyebrows and a ruddy complexion, slowly floated down from the nearby rooftop.
From the monk's white eyebrows, it was clear that he was of an ancient age, yet his rosy face made him look like he was in his forties or fifties, presenting a picture of otherworldly grace!
"Sir, the murderous aura on you is too heavy!" The monk clasped his hands together and said to Ye Xunhuan, "Eyes as dark as ink, murderous intent as cold as ice, unthinkable hell!"
"Sir, lay down the butcher's knife and become enlightened!"
