As his words fell.
Ding Xian suddenly felt the earth spin and the heavens reel, his vision blurring in an instant.
When he opened his eyes again and his mind cleared, a mighty magical power had already shifted him through the void, abruptly transporting him inside the Daoist temple.
"This lowly ghost, Ding Xian, pays respects to True Lord Qiao! May you soon perfect your immortal undertaking, True Lord, and enjoy boundless blessings!"
The majestic divine statue before the offering table had vanished.
In its place sat a handsome Daoist with a face like polished jade, on the prayer cushion to the left.
He wore a deep-blue treasure robe and a Primordial Yang Great Lotus Treasure Crown, with a three-foot sword fastened at his waist by a seven-colored silk cord.
Even the occasional wisp of sharp, cutting energy escaping the blade carried an unrivaled grandeur, as though it would slay every god and ghost throughout the heavens, shake mountains, and shear off peaks!
It made Ding Xian's hair stand on end as he bowed in greeting, his flesh twitching and his heart pounding.
He wished he could lower his head further, then lower and lower still... burying it in the dust, if only to escape that surging, heaven-slaying sword intent!
"You have grown lax in your cultivation of the Sword Dao these past years, Ding Xian."
Seeing Ding Xian's knees knocking, his back almost drenched in sweat, his mind so shaken he could barely maintain his composure.
Qiao Yubi raised his eyes expressionlessly, curled a finger slightly, and flicked the three-foot sword at his waist. Only after he dispelled that unrestrained sword intent did Ding Xian feel a great burden lifted, slowly releasing a breath of relief inwardly.
He said mildly:
"After all these years, almost a full sixty-year cycle