The Ghost King said nothing. He did not make a sound, either. He stood there, stunned, for so long that everyone who glanced his way stopped thinking of him as a living person.
A wisp of clear breeze brushed past, lifting the hem of his long, flowing robes. He slowly took one step, then another...and joined the stream of people. But his strange behavior went unnoticed by those whose minds were already entirely consumed by the rare treasure.
After walking for a while, the Ghost King, for some reason, stopped following the crowd uphill and slipped back into the shadows.
Before long, when he spotted Wild Dog Daoist, he froze for a moment, then couldn't help but curl his lips. No one knew what he was feeling, and no one knew what he was thinking. There was only a trace of barely perceptible anticipation in his eyes, and...
Wild Dog Daoist was not entirely clearheaded. Earlier, the aura the Ghost King had unconsciously exuded had shaken his spirit and left him feeling deeply inferior about his own cultivation.
He knew that with cultivation like his, he could only find a little confidence among people who had no cultivation at all or had only just begun to practice. Ever since he had met Zhang Xiaofan and the other monsters from Big Bamboo Peak, he had grown self-conscious.
For once, his inferiority had nothing to do with his looks. He simply felt insecure because his cultivation was weak. He wanted to become powerful, to stop being looked down on. But the sect he had joined could not help him at all.
Since Blackheart Elder's death, the Blood Refining Hall had fallen behind the old days, whether in cultivation resources or techniques. To put it nicely, it was a mid-tier sect, but that