What Could a Bunch of Tomb Keepers Who Couldn't Even Draw Qi into Their Bodies Possibly Have?
The courtyard was so quiet that a falling pin could have been heard.
More than twenty Daoists stood stiffly, like puppets that had wandered into a land of giants, every joint awkward and unnatural.
Their disbelieving gazes were fixed on the young man leisurely watering his flowers.
Chen Lin seemed not to notice them.
He lifted the watering can and tilted its spout, sending a clear stream of spirit spring water precisely onto the soil around the orchid's roots-just enough to moisten it, neither too much nor too little.
Only after finishing did he straighten up and casually set the watering can on the stone table beside him. Without even lifting his head, he spoke as casually as if asking a neighbor whether they had eaten.
"Need something?"
Those two light words crashed down on every Daoist's heart like two invisible mountains.
He Daoran's cloudy old eyes abruptly narrowed, and his body shook violently.
He had seen it clearly.
What had just poured from that can was no ordinary water! The spiritual energy within it was even more concentrated than what permeated the courtyard's air!
Using such immortal nectar to water ordinary flowers...
What extravagance! What lavishness!
Attainment came first; the Dao cared nothing for age!
At that moment, all He Daoran's doubts, all his common sense, his entire worldview collapsed, leaving only the most primal reverence and devotion toward the Dao.
He drew a deep breath, as though mustering every last ounce of strength he possessed.
Then, before everyone's utterly horrified eyes, this elder of the Celestial Master Mansion-over ninety years old and among the most senior figures on Dragon-Tiger Mountain-lifted his purple robe, buckled at the knees, and dropped with a thud, prostrating himself fully before someone younger than his grandson's grandson!
His aged forehead struck the cold