Hearing the sinister chant of "Amitabha," Huang Xiaolong and the others turned around to look.
They saw a bald monk standing at the temple gate.
The monk looked to be only in his teens, very young, wearing a purple monk's robe, with his hands joined together in prayer. Yet, a ghostly aura swirled around him like smoke, and the yin and resentful energy contained within his body was immense.
At the same time, the wailing sounds of numerous wronged souls surged into the monastery from the outside.
The corner of the monk's mouth twitched, revealing a particularly vicious and cold smile.
"Oh... I thought it was Monk Yizhen who had come. I didn't expect it's just a purple-clad vicious ghost," Huang Xiaolong chuckled. "Little Monk, where's Monk Yizhen? Has he gone to Shanghai?"
