The next day, the Twelfth Elder's corpse was discovered in the outskirts. His death was said to have been utterly gruesome: his face was blue and purple, his body stiff and cold. He looked as though he had frozen to death.
Yet, seeing his bulging eyes and gaping mouth, some guessed that he had been frightened to death.
After all, the old man's character was plain for everyone to see. Perhaps he had encountered a heart-demon tribulation while regulating his breathing and meditating.
What puzzled people was where his disciples and grand-disciples had gone. Had they simply abandoned the old man in the outskirts? Some also noticed that his original Robe of Protection had been replaced with plain cloth clothing. Moreover, his Storage Bag had vanished without a trace...
Perhaps some petty thief had stripped him while passing his corpse...
Of course, these were only the guesses of passersby.
Corpses often turned up in the little grove outside the city. The city's cultivators had long since grown accustomed to it, so even those who heard about it merely took a few looks before returning to their own business.
Thus, no one noticed the black resentful qi that slowly emerged from the old man's corpse in the dead of night...
Meanwhile, his disciples and grand-disciples, who had already traveled far away, all wore some degree of worry on their faces.
"Is it really all right for us to leave Master's corpse there?" The speaker was still that indecisive-looking youngest disciple.
The male cultivator at the head of the group said, "Continuing to carry him would only burden all of us. Besides, don't forget that all our resources were in his hands.
"If he hadn't died, who the hell knows when he would have distributed resources to us again?"
Another disciple agreed.