"How could this be..."
Tu Shan Jun suddenly found himself at a loss.
He had never imagined that Zhou Xinglie would die.
Like the howl of a vicious ghost.
The red-haired young man in the great hall could no longer maintain his composure, his face twisting. His crimson hair cascaded loose like a raging waterfall, horns protruding from his forehead. His aura was like a swaying mandala flower growing between Heaven and Earth—gorgeous, beautiful.
Yet the sight of this flower brought only boundless death and the black abyss of the netherworld.
"Boom!"
Limitless black-red aura scattered toward Heaven and Earth with the swaying flower.
It transformed into curtains hanging from the sky.
It was also like the Milky Way collapsing from the heavens, pouring down upon the earth.
Black-red vapor spread into a boundless ocean. Vicious ghosts, white bones, wronged souls, and yin deities all seemed to wish to step out from that viscous mass, only to be swept back by the waves.
The skies above the entire Zhou family, even above the Taiyi Sect, were completely covered by those thick, piled clouds.
Only now did the Zhou family's Golden Core elders understand the terror of their own ancestor.
With merely one outburst of fury, it was as though heavenly might had descended upon this rolling mortal world.
Beneath that majestic pressure, Golden Core cultivators were like lambs awaiting slaughter, able only to tremble.
The filthy thoughts they had harbored moments ago had long since been swept away.
Their ancestor had merely been indifferent toward matters that did not interest him.
Perhaps even if they had held little respect for him in their hearts, he would not have cared. Yet once the ancestor cared, they finally understood what it meant for an ant to face a great tree, for an