When the hour arrived, Bai Qi was pushed out of the Ancestor Hall, his steps staggered, barely able to stand upright.
In just half a stick of incense, he was killed seventy times by a youthful Ninghai Zen.
Even as he cultivated the "Jiao Subdues Yellow Springs Sutra," honing his mind and spirit to be exceptionally resilient, he couldn't help but feel somewhat scattered and powerless.
"Master has such a narrow mind..."
Bai Qi quietly muttered in his heart, gasping for breath.
He looked around and found himself standing beneath the large plaque in the main hall.
The sky was dim, thick clouds covered it, with only a few faint stars, and a cold wind howling through the courtyard's withered trees.
The vast Tongwen Hall seemed to have only Uncle Dao left, making it slightly desolate.
Entering at night and leaving at night, it's no wonder those Daoist officials often shut themselves away for ten days, half a month, or even years.
