Behind the old monk stood a plain, ancient offering table. Three sticks of sandalwood incense stood in a bronze burner atop it.
Thin wisps of smoke curled upward, spiraling into the void.
Just as Wang Xian was surveying his surroundings with his mind's eye, the old monk seemed to sense something. The wooden fish mallet in his hand paused slightly, and he looked up.
His aged eyes silently gazed at Wang Xian, who was slowly sitting up from the ground.
"Who are you?"
Wang Xian spoke. His throat still hurt, and his voice came out hoarse and unpleasant, but it was much better than before.
Yet the sound seemed to startle the old monk.
The wooden fish mallet slipped in his hand, and he nearly knocked the wooden fish over. He hurriedly steadied it, his face revealing a hint of surprise and delight.
"Ah! Benefactor, you're finally truly awake?" The old monk paused, then asked in turn, "I should ask you the same, benefactor. Who are you? How did you come to the top of this Soul-Shattering Tower?"
The old monk's voice was gentle, yet filled with deep confusion.
He told Wang Xian that he had been meditating quietly at the foot of the tower when he suddenly sensed a disturbance in the suppressing formation at the summit. He rushed up, only to find that both the demonic eye and the sealing formation had vanished.
All that remained was Wang Xian, unconscious on the ground and enveloped in Buddhist light—a bizarre sight.
Unable to break through the golden light protecting him, the old monk had no choice but to stay nearby, chanting sutras to protect him and wait for him to wake.
Wang Xian remained silent for a long while. The chanting had already calmed the chaotic energy inside him