Peach Mountain Shatters, Yao Ji Descends

Jie Yin and Zhun Ti, these two leaders of the Western Teachings who had once called the wind and summoned the rain in the Primordial World, were now staging the most humble drama of survival.

Zhun Ti's tears and snot streamed down his face. In his words, where was even the slightest trace of a Saint's dignity? He was simply more unbearable than a street scoundrel.

"Fellow Daoist Qin Mu, we were tricked here by Primordial Heavenly Venerate! He said that after the deed was done, he would share the East's Fortune with us. For a moment, ghosts blinded our hearts!"

Jie Yin was not quite so exaggerated, but he was also kneeling to the side, palms pressed together, that bitter-gourd face of his wrinkling even deeper. He muttered under his breath; rather than chanting a Buddhist name, it was more like he was reciting his own rebirth curse.

Qin Mu lowered his head and looked at the Saint at his feet, clinging to his thigh with snot and tears all over his face. There was not the slightest ripple in his heart, only a pure surge of disgust.

This was a Saint?

This was a Saint who controlled a sect, worshiped by hundreds of millions of living beings?

Truly laughable.

Before absolute death, their so-called dignity, their so-called Saintly face, was not worth a single coin.

They were not even as good as a hard-boned mortal.

Kill them?

Qin Mu even felt that killing them would dirty his own hands.

Primordial Heavenly Venerate, though both stupid and wicked, had at least dared to pick up the Pangu Banner and make a desperate last stand at the final moment.

As for these two, from beginning to end, aside from kneeling and begging for mercy, they had only sold out their