"Why aren't you getting lost already?" Zi Ling snorted coldly.
As though granted a pardon, the man scrambled and rolled into the bushes, vanishing without a trace in the blink of an eye.
Watching his fleeing back, Zi Ling clapped her hands, her face brimming with pride.
Upholding justice and solving cases with wit—so this was all there was to it.
The little monk hurried forward, carefully picked up the cloth bundle, and gave Zi Ling a deep bow. "Thank you, heroine, for coming to this little monk's aid. I am endlessly grateful."
Zi Ling waved a hand, looked the little monk up and down twice, and her expression turned strange.
"Listen here, little baldy. You may be able to hide your cultivation from others, but not from this heroine. What's this? You let an ordinary mortal steal your things and chase you all over the mountains? What kind of Dao are you cultivating, and what kind of sutras are you chanting?"
A dignified Painting Realm cultivator had actually been bullied into such a state by a mortal. Wasn't he afraid people would laugh their teeth out if word got out?
At her words, the little monk's fair face reddened slightly. Pressing his palms together, he said with utmost seriousness, "Amitabha. Heroine, you do not understand. My master taught me that those who leave the secular world must hold compassion in their hearts..."
He sighed and looked rather helplessly in the direction the man had fled. "This little monk feared that if I acted, I might fail to control my strength and incur the karma of killing. Thus, I could only convince him with reason, patiently and earnestly persuading him all the way."
"..."
"Convince him with reason?"
Zi Ling rolled her eyes. "That reasoning of yours was truly exhausting."