The Lin Lineage's center of power, the "Ancestral Clan Hall," had been built right beside this battlefield.
In other words, the battlefield was the ancestral hall's front courtyard.
Today, the lineage was contesting succession. All the fallen forebears bore witness. Before the decisive battle, more than a dozen people knelt on prayer mats inside the ancestral hall, muttering prayers to their ancestors and reporting the replacement of the second branch's direct line.
Once they were done, the group wore solemn expressions as they lit incense one after another.
Waves of incense smoke drifted through the ancestral hall.
Of those present, the only ones Li Tianming had seen before were Lin Jie, with his single arm and white brows, and the fat, burly Lin Xiong of the sixth branch.
Lin Jie looked solemn, while Lin Xiong's face was gloomy. Deep fury smoldered within his dark eyes. Even while offering incense, he clenched his hand with unusual force.
No one spoke in the entire ancestral hall. It looked calm, but the atmosphere had long been stretched to the point of explosion.
Many sneers and much anger were buried in their hearts.
Whenever they were about to erupt, they glanced toward the entrance.
At the entrance, an old man sat in a wooden chair, his head tilted as he gazed at the endless sea of people ahead, looking as though he had fallen asleep.
His skin was the color of withered wood, as if he might melt into the yellow earth at any moment.
From where he sat, he could see everything within the lineage battlefield.
Lin Xiong walked out from inside and stood beside him. Looking down, he saw that the old man could barely keep his eyes open, yet the pair of eyes beneath those lids still trembled faintly. In a