The pitch-black sphere of light formed by the Night Thunder Tribe's Totem Spirit exploded amid violent flickering, carrying Ao Kui's razor-sharp malice with it—
Before it could explode, a spotless hand suddenly reached over.
That hand belonged to a delicate-featured little bald monk.
Monk Jingli seized the black sphere in one grip!
At that instant, black radiance flared fiercely. Yet when the viscous blackness rushed onto Monk Jingli's hand, it could not cling to him at all. It merely slid away dejectedly, like raindrops rolling off an oilcloth.
Golden Swastika Symbols appeared out of thin air then, striking the sphere one after another. They battered that violence into calm, battered that roar into silence, battered the exploding malice and swelling sphere of light all the way back—
Until the sphere reverted to purple, forcing out this ink-black drop from his palm!
The purple sphere of light was once more subdued before Jiang Wang. The Shaman of the Night Thunder Tribe cursed venomously, but his voice was not allowed to be heard.
For now, the Glazed Buddhist Son was about to speak.
The towering Sacred Hunt Mountain had become history, and the resplendent Fire Realm had dwindled to the size of a pellet.
The group sped back toward the Qinghuo Tribe, their haste unmistakable.
Jingli held the black ink in his palm. Clear stubbornness flowed through his clean, delicate features. "My master said that if someone says something I don't like hearing, I can hit him."
The ink drop gave an "Oh." "Who is your master?"
Jingli was immensely proud. "My master is the future Pure Land Buddha, the next abbot of the Hanging Temple, and the current spiritual pillar of Three Treasures Mountain!"
"Never heard of him. What a load of nonsense," Ao Kui's voice said.
Then he asked, "What