Speaking of acting, he had some skill at it.
How had he risen to this point and attained such cultivation? What had he relied on throughout the way? Smoothness.
No matter what situation he faced, he could effortlessly switch identities to deal with it.
Unlike certain self-righteous, one-track-minded fools. No matter how high such people's cultivation was, they would never achieve anything great in the end.
As for those mortal storybooks where some sect genius, relying on his peerless talent, actually shit on the head of the sect's ancestor—and the ancestor happily watched on—
That was simply the joke of the century. Any true powerhouse cared about face. If their dignity was damaged, then no matter who you were, you had to die.
Meanwhile, Ye Lin continued lying in his chair with his eyes closed, resting his mind. He knew nothing of what was happening outside, nor did he care, because none of it had anything to do with him.
In the blink of an eye, another hundred years passed.
Six hundred years remained until Ye Lin completed his trial mission.
That golden-armored warrior had previously promised to come rescue him, yet a hundred years had passed without the slightest word from him.
But Ye Lin was not saddened in the least. Instead, he was delighted.
The fact that the golden-armored warrior had not come already represented many things.
It meant that Heavenly Court itself had become too overwhelmed and frazzled to spare anyone to deal with him.
And on this day, an acquaintance came to Ye Lin.
He was one of the previous five powerhouses—the elderly man who had spoken with Ye Lin before.
The old man approached Ye Lin with a kindly expression.
"Fellow Daoist, you're living quite comfortably. This old man is downright envious."
Seeing Ye Lin