Northern Region, Sacred Mountain.
After Venerable Myriad Dharma fell, this great snow mountain swiftly lost its halo. No longer were there dense pilgrim footprints at its foot, and when the people of the Northern Region spoke of this place, they no longer did so with overflowing reverence—only with a few sighs.
Venerable Myriad Dharma died slaying the Demon God, which counted as a glorious conclusion to his long life, worthy of his title as one of humanity's foremost powerhouses. Unfortunately, all his efforts came to nothing because of that utterly conscienceless wretch, Reverend Common Life. The Demon God's origin essence still escaped in the end, and now humanity could only coexist peacefully with the Demon Race.
The Demon Race's occupation of Penglai's ancestral land could only be considered a tiny, insignificant retribution, nowhere near enough to offset even one ten-thousandth of Common Life's sins.
After Common Life's death, the current Penglai Supreme Sect had drawn a clear line between itself and the past, embarking upon a path of diligent labor and cultivation, allowing all these grudges and grievances to vanish like smoke.
The Four Seas and Nine Provinces remained peaceful. That was enough.
Yet no gloom hung over the Sacred Mountain's summit. The monks still maintained their daily chanting and cultivation, bowing morning and evening, burning incense at dawn and dusk, as though losing their master had made no difference to them.
Only on this day, Senior Brother Wue, who led everyone in their daily lessons, seemed to have encountered some problem as well. He had locked himself inside his meditation chamber for quite some time, yet still had not emerged.
Even Jiang Guo, who had always been indifferent, stared at the tightly shut door and wondered, "What's wrong with the big monk? The old monk is already dead. Surely