"You old Daoist! You dared harm us!"
"You're courting death!"
"Fusheng Wuliang Tianzun, this old Daoist can do nothing about it either."
The middle-aged cultivator stopped the fury of the five behind him. Of everyone present, he knew this shabby Daoist's abilities best, but he wouldn't fear him overly much.
Coldness shot from his eyes, and his voice turned icy. He stopped trading barbs. "A clear river—why did you decide it was Spirit Terrace River? My seventh brother paid for this matter with his life to divine it. Bitter-Brow Daoist, what reason do you have for your conclusion?"
Only then did the shabby Daoist's expression change slightly. "This..."
"No wonder you Benefactors came over this matter. What a sin."
The poor old Daoist wore a bitter expression. To these men, he looked less like a Daoist than some bald old Buddhist monk.
Turtle against turtle—six of one, half a dozen of the other.
"Stop spouting nonsense!"
Third Brother had reached the end of his patience. He wanted nothing more than to kill this old Daoist immediately.
"Benefactor, you should know that what you're searching for is something from ten thousand years ago—something from ten thousand years ago. And it's something that would stir up bloody storms the instant it appeared. If you wish to obtain it, you must pay a price."
Bitter-Brow Daoist held a Dao Seal between his fingers, bitterness written across his old face. He lifted his gaze, then let it fall upon the chessboard once more.
This broken chessboard had been rubbed and handled for countless years.
"Without a price, there can be no answer. Fusheng Wuliang Tianzun."
The middle-aged cultivator looked at him. "The price was several lives."
Bitter-Brow Daoist held the Dao Seal and sighed. "In truth, one life would've been enough to find the