Meanwhile, in a secluded courtyard in the rear mountains of the Lan family.
Yang Lingtian had just finished touring the area and returned to his quarters. He sat cross-legged atop a meditation cushion.
His eyes were slightly closed, and faint Chaos airflow swirled around him, as if he had been cut off from heaven and earth.
Suddenly, his brows twitched almost imperceptibly. His deep eyes slowly opened and looked toward the distant horizon.
"Hm?" He seemed to have sensed something.
A thread of killing intent, extremely faint yet bone-chillingly cold, spread through heaven and earth like an invisible strand.
There was also a subtle ripple caused by the disturbance of space, though it was extraordinarily well hidden.
But his divine sense was comparable to that of a Divine Sect Realm expert, and as a Formation Master, he still caught a trace of abnormality.
"Someone is setting up a formation nearby? And this killing intent is aimed at the Lan family?"
The corners of Yang Lingtian's lips lifted slightly. "Looks like some people can't sit still anymore."
The night was as dark as ink, blanketing the vast, boundless mountains and earth.
The starlight was dim, obscured by an invisible haze.
Beyond the Lan family's mountain range, within the void spanning tens of millions of li, an aged figure darted about like a ghost.
His body was gaunt, and he wore a drab gray robe that nearly melded into the night.
He was none other than the Zhao Family Ancestor, an old monster who had lived for countless years.
At that moment, his expression was solemn as his hands continually formed complicated, ancient seals.
Each change in his seals stirred some mysterious power within the void.
One formation disc after another, each palm-sized and engraved with profound runes, was taken from his