In the afterglow of the sunset, five cultivators were drifting on the cloud in panic outside the village gate, flying swiftly towards the sea.
The two in front of them carried the covered-up clay statue with precious light.
The old Daoist priest and a young cultivator at the back supported Wang Cai, whose legs were trembling.
Wang Cai's chest had an obvious fist mark and caved in by three inches. His own Dharma powers rushed like tidal waves, unable to calm down for a long time. As they flew, he would spray a mouthful of blood at the side.
Fortunately, he had reached the Soul Formation realm. With such injuries, he…
Pfft!
Maybe, he would really die.
The old Daoist priest quickly shouted, "Wang Cai! Wang Cai!"
Wang Cai, whose mouth was covered in blood, turned his head and forced a smile at his master. He said in a trembling voice, "Master, I'm fine. We're cultivators…
"Master, let's not… come to this village anymore, okay?"
