Jing Jiu carried the white cat between the peaks and sat down in that chair. He did not deliberately pause, look around in pride, or speak.
He did none of the things that might have deepened everyone's impression and made them remember this historic moment.
The whole process was perfectly ordinary, as if he had grown a little tired and simply lain down in the bamboo chair.
But what he had taken over was no mere patch of land. It was the most powerful Righteous Path Sect on the Chaotian Continent, and someone was bound to arrange something.
What followed ought to have been Ten Thousand Swords Pay Homage, or perhaps heavenly maidens scattering flowers. The Zen Child would recite a passage of scripture, Yuan Qijing would smile without speaking, and his identity would then be confirmed.
Of course, even without these proceedings, he was still the Green Mountain Sect Master. It was just that many things in this world always required some sense of ceremony to mark their celebration.
Just then, the rumble of wheels suddenly came from between the peaks.
A wheelchair made its way up Heavenly Light Peak's steep mountain path. All those steps presented no obstacle at all, as though it had floated up.
A withered, thin old man sat in the wheelchair, his eyes sunken deep, his aura feeble, white hair covering his body. He looked as though he might die at any moment.
Fang Jingtian pushed the wheelchair, his expression composed. His two white eyebrows rose with the wind, adding a touch of immortal intent.
An uproar broke out at the sight.
The representatives of the various sects exchanged speechless looks, each seeing the shock in the others' hearts. The Green Mountain disciples were even more tense.
After the battle of the Western Sea,