Before the Divine Statue in the main hall, the young monk sat cross-legged in silent cultivation, his five centers facing heaven. Clad in spotless white robes, with red lips and white teeth, his eyes were lightly closed, and he did not move in the slightest.
Ye Zhen appeared soundlessly at the entrance of the hall and quietly watched the young monk. He simply stood there, quietly watching, utterly motionless.
Ye Zhen did not move, and the young monk seemed entirely unaware.
A mountain wind swept past, and the red flag-patterned sweatcloth tucked into the young monk's sleeve suddenly trembled faintly.
Ye Zhen remained still, but a smile suddenly touched his lips—a smile filled with deep mockery.
As though he had eyes in the back of his head, the young monk seemed to have seen the heavy derision on Ye Zhen's lips. He could sit still no longer.
With a long sigh, the young monk suddenly turned around. His face was childishly young, yet the voice that emerged was that of a dying old man.
It was the voice of the Sun Moon Dao Ancestor.
"Fellow Daoist Ye, why must you kill them all?
"At our level, why not leave a thread of goodwill behind for the future?" A pained look suddenly appeared on the young monk's face.
Ye Zhen did not answer, but the mockery at the corner of his lips deepened. His gaze upon the young monk possessed by the Sun Moon Dao Ancestor was filled with even greater contempt.
That was right—contempt!
Even disdain!
The dignified Sun Moon Dao Ancestor of the Heaven Temple was actually so terrified of death.
In Ye Zhen's eyes, such a person no longer deserved to be his opponent.
Sensing the profound scorn in Ye Zhen's eyes, the handsome face of the possessed