Zong Yang staggered to the entrance of Zuan Wangye Temple. No one stopped him, and he pressed his bloody hand against a pillar.
It was unclear whether he had seen Zuan Wangye's Deity Statue or Little Daoist Ji.
His last breath escaped him.
"The Mirror outside. There's something wrong with the Mirror outside."
"Everyone who looked at the Mirror broke into pieces."
He screamed those final words with all his strength.
Little Daoist Ji stood up and looked at Zong Yang in confusion. Then he saw what had happened to Zong Yang, and words failed him.
His hands trembled slightly. He had no idea what he should do.
He wanted to protect the soul before him, but none of the spells he knew could do it. Even if there were spells capable of it, he had never learned them.
All he could do was perform rites to help him pass on.
But it was too late.
Once that breath escaped him, Zong Yang fell to the ground in chunks of flesh.
He had been right. Everyone who looked at the Mirror outside had been cut into pieces.
Perhaps they had not even been "cut." His wounds were far too smooth for that.
Fortunately, the divine light within Zuan Wangye Temple enveloped him, protecting the last trace of his true spirit, though it did little good.
Watching a living, breathing person turn into this, Little Daoist Ji's pupils rapidly dilated.
He hurried outside and saw the "shattered bronze mirrors" towering a thousand zhang high. He knew they were not physical objects. They had to be some kind of Supernatural Ability.
A chill ran through Little Daoist Ji's entire body.
Because he, too, had glanced at them. He had seen a bizarre, kaleidoscopic sight.
These broken "Mirrors" did not lie on a