The old Daoist watched in shock as the screen wall before him gradually went dark, and the dancing Shaman within it slowly vanished.
The screen wall returned to darkness.
He crashed heavily to the ground, nearly every bone in his body shattered.
Even so, his powerful will sustained him as he struggled up, dragging a bloody streak behind him like a blood-soaked mop.
He dragged himself over to Lin Feng.
No matter what, he had to protect this young man, get him out of this sinister place, and have him pass on the news.
A shadow hung over the old Daoist's heart—a great secret concerning both Buddhism and Taoism.
He knew that people like them were not nearly as powerful as they had once imagined.
Over a decade ago, Lamas from Capital City had arrived bearing an imperial decree. Everyone, regardless of who they were, had to accompany them to Capital City to "avert disaster and pray for blessings." Even the "old immortals" of his granduncle-master's generation had been forcibly taken away, their whereabouts unknown. Several years later, they returned in the night.
He still remembered that night. Someone said that all their granduncle-masters and senior ritual masters had returned, but afterward, the main hall on the mountaintop had been sealed shut.
The old Daoist could hear incantations drifting down from the mountain.
It was very strange.
No one even came out to explain.
From then on, the imperial bells in the mountaintop hall rang every night.
He had never seen his granduncle-masters again. It was not just their temple, either. The other Taoist Temples and Buddhist monasteries were all the same.
From then on, they had never recovered.
The ritual masters who had left refused all visitors after returning, and then vanished.
About three months after that incident, the