Before long, the group was led by the mountain-guarding disciples into the Golden Cauldron Hall. They stood divided on either side, their boundaries distinct as the Wei and Jing Rivers, yet faintly forming a whole.
The group on the left had four people. At their head stood a Daoist in his forties, with triangular eyes, a goatee, and a short stature that made his earth-yellow Daoist robe look oversized.
Yet every gesture he made carried an intimidating presence, and his eyes gleamed sharply. Even his originally rather wretched-looking face became much more pleasing to the eye.
Thanks to Leng Qingmei's reminder, Duàn Yì knew that he was Daoist Qinghe of the Green Crane Sect.
What drew Duàn Yì's attention most, however, were Daoist Qinghe's hands hanging at his sides. They bore a faint iron-blue hue, as though they were not made of flesh and blood but forged from metal. Clearly, his hand techniques had been cultivated to an extremely high realm.
The Green Crane Sect was not, in truth, a Daoist sect. It was merely because Qing He had admired Daoist teachings in his youth, shaved his head and entered the faith on his own, and devoted himself to studying Daoist classics. When he later succeeded as sect master, he simply changed his name to Qing He, and others thereafter called him Daoist Qinghe.
Compared to him, the other Daoist was far more pleasant to behold. He was of average build, with a gentle smile and well-proportioned features. Though he looked no older than thirty-something, the whisk in his hand lent him an immortal air. He truly seemed like a man who had attained the Dao.
Yet Leng Qingmei did not recognize him and had no idea of his origins.
The two younger men behind them were dressed like ordinary