Was it the big one or the little one?
The question was not about the numbers beneath a dice cup, nor the size of a hotpot serving.
Zen Child looked into the depths of the snowfield, his expression suddenly easing a little. "It should be the little one."
The Blade Sage's voice rang out again, clearly much more relaxed as well. "Then you go."
Zen Child raised a bare foot and scraped the mud off against the threshold. With his head lowered, he asked, "Why?"
"I'll take the big one, and you take the little one," the Blade Sage said. "Didn't we agree on that when you came?"
Zen Child raised his head and slowly rolled his monk's sleeves up to his elbows. "I may be young, but counting my previous life, I'm much older than you."
The Blade Sage ignored him. His meaning was clear: with those fists the size of little bowls, how could you have the nerve to call yourself big?
Bell Chime rang out from the temple, passing through White City and echoing along the edge of the snowfield. The Human Race's cultivators retreated to the rear as quickly as they could.
The fiercest streak of Sword Light was the last to vanish from the sky.
Only the wounded who could not be evacuated in time and the medical monks from the Fruitful Accomplishment Temple, the Precious Thoroughfare Zen Monastery, and other places remained in the camp outside White City.
Zen Child stepped into the air, and a lotus blossomed out of nothing wherever his bare feet fell.
Lotus after lotus led into the depths of the snowfield, fading in the cold wind.
Within a few breaths, he was already above the snowfield dozens of miles away.
The violent wind and snow gradually subsided, and visibility