"Crack—!"
The crisp sound of shattering exploded through the noisy crowd like a thunderclap. It was too loud, too sharp, too sudden, cleanly slicing through every argument and clamor.
Everyone's gaze was drawn to that abrupt crack.
They turned in unison toward the sound and saw a young cultivator standing there with a child in his arms.
He wore an ultramarine Profound Heaven Sect robe, its hems stained with a little dust. The sleeve around his wrist had torn, blood seeping through it. He had turned sideways to shield the child in his arms completely, revealing only a tuft of soft hair.
Only then did everyone belatedly realize that there was a direct disciple of the Profound Heaven Sect here as well.
Song Zhiyi's gaze swept over the cultivators who were still arguing. It was neither sharp nor fierce, and did not seem to carry much emotion. Yet wherever that gaze passed, it felt as though a chill wind had blown through, making their hearts tighten instinctively.
"Both of your positions make sense," Song Zhiyi said. "Uprooting the grass and removing the roots can eliminate future trouble; investigating the truth can prevent future danger. They are simply two ways of handling this matter. Neither is inherently right or wrong."
He looked at the two who had fought earlier. "It is only... how these attackers are dealt with, and which method is used, should be a matter for my Profound Heaven Sect to consider."
"If you object to the way they are handled, then you may as well capture Demonic Cultivators yourselves. When the time comes, dispose of them however you wish—kill or spare them, interrogate or release them. The choice is yours."
His words were well-founded and entirely reasonable. They left everyone speechless.
After all, everyone present knew perfectly well