"Master, what's wrong?"
"Nothing. Something merely went awry with my cultivation. As it happens, I remembered there are still some flaws in your God-Shocking Sword. Come here. I'll teach you hand over hand."
His hoarse voice trembled slightly.
He seemed to be desperately suppressing something.
When Ye Qinghong heard about being taught hand over hand, scene after scene surfaced in his mind.
His originally icy eyes seemed to show signs of thawing.
But soon, his glazed sword heart activated, turning into a cold blade that slashed those images to pieces.
Worried about his master, he drew a deep breath and walked toward the throne, step by step, soon arriving before that magnificent seat towering in the darkness.
He saw his master.
Black robes still billowed, and demonic hair danced wildly.
That handsome face looked as though it had been carved with knives and axes.
Only those once-cold eyes had become bloodshot at some point, and a sun-shaped mark had appeared between his brows.
Even his breathing had grown much heavier.
Upon seeing him, his master slowly sat up in his chair, radiating a scorching aura, like an ancient demon that had fixed upon its prey, making even his hair stand on end.
Before he could react.
That hoarse voice, seemingly suppressing something, rang out again.
"Good disciple, come a little closer."
Ye Qinghong was somewhat bewildered and even more puzzled, with no idea what his master wanted to do.
But in the end, he clenched his fists and walked up to his master, step by step, until barely a foot separated them.
He could almost hear his master's heavy breathing.
It was as scalding as lava.
"Take off your shoes."
Another cold voice rang out, overbearing and authoritative, like a command.
His body trembled. Puzzled, he looked up, meeting his