Over the next few days, Mo Hua was somewhat distracted.
Everything he had experienced in the Sword Graveyard was still vivid before his eyes.
That pitch-black night, the bleak and desolate graves, the broken swords strewn everywhere, the terrifying old ancestor—bit by bit, they often surfaced in his mind.
Of course, most importantly, that unfathomably profound old ancestor of the forbidden area had promised to teach him the Divine Sense Sword Transformation Art!
But Mo Hua still felt a little uneasy.
He was not certain whether this old ancestor would truly keep his promise and teach him the divine sense sword art.
"This old ancestor... couldn't be tricking me, could he?"
"He probably wouldn't..."
Mo Hua shook his head. "He's an old ancestor, at the Void Insight realm. How could he be so idle as to trick a little Foundation Establishment disciple like me for fun..."
"But what if this old ancestor goes back on his word..."
Mo Hua's brows knitted tightly.
Divine sense transforming into a sword was right before his eyes.
Yet it also seemed far beyond the horizon, drifting and uncertain.
For the next few days, Mo Hua passed his time in this state of worrying over gains and losses.
Until seven days later.
Mo Hua straightened his clothes and sat properly in the Disciple Quarters, waiting for the old ancestor to come and "catch" him.
But he waited and waited, and the spatial rift he was looking forward to still did not appear.
Mo Hua felt a little restless, =.
But it was still early, so he forced down his impatience and continued waiting.
Finally, as it neared midnight, a terrifying fluctuation suddenly came.
The void was torn apart out of nowhere.
A spatial rift appeared, and a large, withered hand reached out.
This time, Mo