Zen Child returned to the little temple behind White City, raised his arm, and wiped the sweat from his forehead with his sleeve.
The Blade Sage's deep voice, once again impaired, rang out. "Thanks for the effort."
"I only beat up a little brat. It didn't take much strength."
Zen Child turned toward the pile of scattered wooden sticks outside the threshold, shook his head, and bent down to pick them up.
The movement aggravated his internal injuries. With a splutter, blood sprayed from his lips like mist, falling on the threshold and the thin wooden sticks.
The little temple grew extraordinarily quiet. The Blade Sage said nothing. It was as deathly still as a tomb.
Only after an unknown length of time did Zen Child slowly straighten, look into the depths of the Snowfield, and let out a sigh laden with complicated meaning.
Both the deathly silence and the sigh came from pressure-the pressure the Snow Nation exerted on the Human Race.
"I'll call someone over to clean this up in a while."
Zen Child raised his arm and wiped the beads of blood from the corner of his mouth with his sleeve, gazing toward the Snowfield in silence for a long time.
He had used the Treasure Mirror Divine Ability to severely injure that white figure and force her back into the depths of the Snowfield, but he had paid a heavy price himself.
"About twenty-three years, isn't it? That little one has actually become this powerful?" Zen Child suddenly said.
During the Dao Battle at that year's Plum Gathering, a sudden change had swept the Snowfield. Heaven and earth had abruptly turned cold, many young cultivators participating in the Dao Battle had died, and Jing Jiu and Bai Zao had been trapped for six years, all because