It was that man surnamed Chen again.
Hearing Xue Hen's words, Lian Youming understood.
Those few words held the resolve to overturn heaven and earth and change the course of the world. They truly deserved to be called "unrivaled throughout the ages." The Martial Way grandeur they embodied could probably only have belonged to that Number One Under Heaven.
After speaking, Xue Hen added with interest, "This is a rare opportunity. Count me in for this fight."
An eerie silence settled over them for several seconds before a voice spoke.
"Number One Under Heaven! Ah, formidable indeed. This ordinary stone tablet alone suppressed me for nearly sixty years, forcing me into silent slumber, imprisoned within my own coffin."
A hoarse voice drifted out of the ancestral hall, so cold it made the heart tremble.
Cold though it was, the voice did not sound old. It was almost childlike, yet carried a shrill rasp, making it sound neither quite male nor female, bizarre in the extreme.
The withered old figure held his hands behind his back. Dressed in an old Mandarin Square robe, stooped and bent, he looked ancient beyond belief. His long white hair was as tangled as weeds. He leaped down from the coffin, skimmed forward on his toes, stepped over the bones littering the ground, and slowly emerged from the ancestral hall.
The moment the man came out, Lian Youming caught a strong scent of decay and a damp, musty odor.
He felt that the figure before him was nothing like a living person, but rather a length of rotten wood, a corpse about to decompose, an old ghost from a grave.
The old ghost raised his head slightly. His face was waxen yellow, his cheeks fleshless, his sockets deeply sunken around two lifeless eyes. Those eyes slowly