Chen Lin grumbled inwardly, but his expression remained calm. He neither accepted nor refused.
To Zhang Jinling, that tacit acceptance was the reserved assent of an accomplished elder.
Reassured, he immediately turned and gave a meaningful glance to the most composed-looking young Daoist.
The Daoist understood at once and bowed as he withdrew from the courtyard. Before long, he returned, carrying an antique, elongated wooden box in both hands.
The box was the color of rosewood. Its original lacquer sheen had long vanished beneath a thick patina, clearly accumulated over countless years.
The young Daoist dared not look directly at Chen Lin. Head lowered, he raised the box above his head and respectfully presented it.
Chen Lin raised a hand and beckoned through the air.
Whoosh!
The wooden box instantly left the Daoist's hands and flew steadily onto the stone table before Chen Lin. With a soft click, its lid sprang open on its own.
He had performed this Object Manipulation Art with effortless ease, yet it once again shook every Daoist to the core.
Inside the wooden box lay a palm-sized talisman, purple-gold throughout.
Its material was neither paper nor silk, and intricate, arcane crimson patterns visibly flowed across its surface.
The instant the lid opened, a suction far more aggressive than the spiritual energy in the courtyard erupted from the talisman!
The spiritual energy within ten meters was sucked in as though swallowed by a whale, forming invisible streams that surged madly into the tiny talisman!
He Daoran and the others felt the air around them empty. More than half of the soothing sensation that had enveloped them was stripped away in an instant.
Yet that frenzied absorption lasted less than five seconds before abruptly stopping.
The radiance on the purple talisman's surface flickered faintly, then fell dormant