Old Daoist Liu sprang to his feet, his eyes full of disbelief. He even darted around the round chair, looking it over and sniffing it, then went to the doors and windows to inspect them closely. The more he looked, the more astonished—indeed, shocked—he became.
"How could this be? What kind of method is this? Invisibility? Passing through walls? Or was that Meng Zhao a fake from beginning to end, merely using supreme mental arts to create an illusion and converse with me across space, communicating spirit to spirit, while his true body never came at all?"
Old Daoist Liu could see clearly that there was no trace whatsoever of Meng Zhao having entered the room—not even the faintest scent left behind. As for the doors and windows, they had not moved in the slightest. It was as though everything that had just happened had been nothing more than his own hallucination.
Yet he was no fool. Though his combat strength was not especially formidable, he was still at the Grandmaster Realm. He could be certain that he had indeed spoken with someone. The other party's every expression and little gesture had been lifelike; they could not possibly have been fake.
"It seems this man's methods far exceed my imagination. Good. The stronger he is, the more valuable everything I said today becomes."
Just as he was still pondering what method Meng Zhao had used to erase his traces and vanish beneath his very eyes, someone knocked at the door. He went over and opened it, only to find Beitang Xing, who had been called away by that middle-aged monk, standing outside.
Old Daoist Liu's mind drifted for a moment, and he instantly understood why Meng Zhao had said that he had suddenly left at the height of their conversation.