"What happened?"
"The wraiths are rioting?!"
Everyone's expression changed. Even the Demon Sect Commander, usually as steady as a mountain, looked grave.
The surrounding Yin Qi gathered like wind and clouds, growing so dense that the gloomy air seemed ready to drip with water. A piercing chill seeped into their bones.
The Black-Robed Elder looked up at the sky.
It was gray and suffused with Yin Qi, but there was nothing there.
Still, he could tell that something momentous was happening.
The Black-Robed Elder turned toward Mo Hua, his pupils trembling.
He did not know what had happened, but the wraiths stirring throughout the Dao Field had certainly been drawn by this boy's divine sense.
"What on earth happened?"
A Yin Wind surged overhead with crushing pressure, then stalled and circled above them.
The Black-Robed Elder could not see what was happening. Mo Hua could.
In Mo Hua's sight, countless Grievous Souls and ghosts, drawn by the golden smoke of his divine sense, were gathering like a rising tide.
That golden Divine Thought filled them with longing—and fear.
Longing made them roar and tremble all over.
Fear left them quaking, too frightened to advance.
It was like a gift from a deity, bearing supreme honor. They wanted to eat it, yet none truly dared take a bite.
More and more Evil Spirits and ghosts gathered around the golden Divine Thought, blotting out the sky and forming a terrifying, sinister hurricane.
Packed together, they jostled and trampled one another until even space seemed to warp.
Cold sweat gradually beaded on the Black-Robed Elder's forehead.
The others hardly dared breathe.
The lamp above Mo Hua's head was still lit. Golden Divine Thought continued to rise in wisps, growing denser little by little.
At last, one Evil Spirit could no longer hold back.