Mount Tai had fallen calm.
Even the finger that had pierced the mountain had completely crumbled, merging with the rock and soil.
Yet the strange upheaval and fierce battle had utterly transformed this mountain famed throughout the world. Its new sheer cliffs and the devastation along its slopes would leave a heavy mark on the River of Time.
"Today's events will likely be written down, or passed from mouth to mouth for generations. To have witnessed them leaves me with no regrets in this life."
Monk Xinren gazed at the seated figure and sighed.
Chen Cuo had shielded them from the fog from the start. Though a single glance had gravely wounded the Tiger of North Mountain, they had suffered less than anyone else—their minds were intact and their Dao Hearts unbroken. They were thus among the first to recover from the battle.
Gong Cheng helped the Tiger of North Mountain to his feet. Blood smeared his mouth, but he still grinned. "Monk, your six senses are hardly pure. You cling to everything, yet somehow pass yourself off as a monk."
Then his tone changed. "The man we met is no ordinary figure. Even a rough wanderer like me has heard of him! You boast of knowing everything, yet you couldn't recognize someone so famous. Had we known sooner, we might have gotten closer to him. Looking at things now, I'm afraid we've missed our chance."
As he spoke, several figures gathered around Chen Cuo's pit. Besides Daoist cultivators such as Jingtongzi and Ding Menzi, the sect leaders and elders of the Six Great Sects hobbled forward with their disciples' help and stood cautiously behind the cultivators.
"It wasn't that I couldn't recognize him. His Divine Ability was simply beyond belief. By all rights, he should be in the South,