Eight Sceneries Palace.
Inside the great hall, all was pure, quiet, and inactive. There was only an alchemy furnace, its fire burning green, giving off a faint, barely discernible medicinal fragrance.
Saint Taiqing sat cross-legged on a cushion. His eyes, still as an ancient well without a ripple, slowly opened and fell on the figure below, dressed in Daoist robes and standing with his head bowed.
Daoist Duobao.
Once the eldest disciple of the Jie Sect, now a prisoner beneath the steps.
"Duobao."
Saint Taiqing's voice was flat, without the slightest hint of emotion.
"Your disciple is here."
Duobao bowed, his manner respectful, leaving no fault for anyone to pick at.
"In your heart, do you still blame me?"
Saint Taiqing asked directly, as if he were only asking the most ordinary question.
Duobao's body stiffened slightly, then returned to normal. He buried his head even lower.
"Your disciple dares not."
Two simple words came from his mouth.
Dared not.
It was not that he did not; it was that he dared not.
Saint Taiqing sighed softly.
"If you dare not, then that means you blame me."
Duobao remained silent.
Blame him?
How could he not!
In the Investiture of the Gods Calamity, ten thousand immortals of his Jie Sect had fallen, and their orthodoxy had withered almost to nothing.
And the chief culprits behind it all, aside from Venerable Lord Yuanshi, included this lofty eldest martial uncle before his eyes.
If not for him making a move, using the method of One Qi Transforms into Three Pure Ones to break the Immortal Slaying Sword Formation, how could the Jie Sect have fallen to such a state?
But what could he do?
The Investiture of the Gods had already ended. The Jie Sect had already lost.
Duobao pressed down the