Green Mountain Dao, Interrogating Leng Bingshan

I had previously heard Mao Jing mention that their master's Daoist title was "Qingshan."

Before, I had only heard bits and pieces and knew that this senior was very formidable.

Moreover, in Western Hunan, he had once slain one of Nine Corpse Daoist's corpses.

Now that I met him in person, I felt that not only was he immensely powerful, but his appearance also perfectly matched that of a reclusive master.

He looked exactly like the sort of enlightened master with an immortal bearing and Daoist grace.

This formed a stark contrast to my master, who was dark and skinny, carried a fishing rod, loved wearing slippers and floral shorts, and cursed people the moment he opened his mouth.

Of course, that wasn't to say my master was inferior.

It was just that this man looked more like the kind of cultivator people imagined.

"Master!"

Pan Ling looked at Daoist Qingshan pitifully.

As though she had suffered endless grievances, she immediately began to sob.

Daoist Qingshan flicked the bloodied whisk in his hand. Though it seemed like a gentle motion, he used astral energy to shake every drop of blood from it.

"Good disciple, don't cry. You must have been frightened."

The old Daoist spoke calmly and kindly as he gently stroked Pan Ling's head.

Within the Daoist sects, only elders were qualified to do such a thing.

It was akin to bestowing blessings, showing favor, offering comfort...

Mao Jing also stepped forward a few paces, bowed, and cupped his fists.

"Master!"

Seeing this, I hurriedly gave Zhang Yuchen a look.

Then, following the customs of our trade, I cupped my fists toward Mao Jing's master and called out,

"Senior! Thank you for saving us in our moment of peril."

"Yes, yes, yes, thank you for saving us, Senior.

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