"Forgetting Daoist." Chu Mo's expression grew grave.
"Oh? You have heard of my humble name?" At his words, a trace of curiosity appeared on the middle-aged cultivator's face.
Chu Mo did not answer. His gaze remained fixed on the man.
The man stood right before him, yet his presence was so faint and ethereal that he seemed like nothing more than empty air. The slightest distraction, a glance away, and Chu Mo would forget him.
How could I have forgotten him?
Alarm bells rang in Chu Mo's mind.
Shadow Daoist's party had clearly arrived as a group of four. Yet from the breaking of the mist formation and their appearance to Plague Daoist and Bone Daoist being trapped by the [Multitude]...
His attention had been caught up in those three and the [Multitude], and without even realizing it, he had completely forgotten the fourth man.
Had the man not stepped into the Crimson Sun Golden Vault of his own accord, Chu Mo might never have remembered him.
What bizarre art was this? How could it interfere with someone's memory so seamlessly?
Seeing Chu Mo remain silent, Forgetting Daoist showed no annoyance. Instead, seemingly drawn to the scenery inside the Golden Vault, he began looking around on his own. "This place is actually an independent pocket grotto-heaven, just like the Ghost Markets under our control... Your methods are truly remarkable." He nodded repeatedly, his words full of admiration. Then he paused slightly and turned his gaze back to Chu Mo.
"However..."
A trace of puzzlement appeared on Forgetting Daoist's face. "Given the abilities you have displayed, my paltry tricks should have some slight effect on you, but logically, it should not be so pronounced."
Chu Mo's gaze shifted slightly, and he changed the subject. "Are you here for the art I