Jiang Siming left in high spirits.
He left the disciples of the Qingyun Sect behind to clean up the battlefield.
Dao Xuan was naturally upset after Jiang Siming had taken so many storage bags.
He hatched a scheme and went to find the city lord, Tang San, demanding compensation.
"If it weren't for the many elders of our Qingyun Sect joining forces to resist the demonic cultivators' assault, how could your city still be standing? As the city lord of the East Continent Dynasty, shouldn't you give me a little compensation? I'm not asking for much. Just bring out a tiny bit of treasure—say, a hundred million or so."
Hearing this, Tang San regretted slapping himself across the mouth and wondered why he had come back.
He had clearly already left.
But when he saw Jiang Siming kill the Saint Ancestor Yuan Sha, he rushed back, thinking peace had finally returned to the world.
Instead, Dao Xuan had caught him and started shearing his wool.
Tang San didn't dare refuse. Damn it, his city was right beneath the Qingyun Sect's mountain.
How could he dare refuse?
He obediently handed over a large batch of treasures. They naturally couldn't compare with the things in the storage bags Jiang Siming had obtained.
Still, they at least helped Dao Xuan feel a little more balanced. Many small gains added up, after all!
He even began wondering whether he should follow behind Jiang Siming in the future, picking up scraps and collecting protection fees.
Watching Dao Xuan leave in satisfaction, Tang San secretly gritted his teeth and cursed, "Is this really a reputable orthodox sect? I remember the Qingyun Sect wasn't like this before. Dao Xuan used to be humble, courteous, and kindhearted. How did he become like this after only a dozen years?"