Lu huaijiang swallowed his saliva.
"Uh ... Your father didn't come. He can't come." After all, he was only left with his head.
Lu huaijiang began to reflect on whether he had executed it too early.
"Only master yixu came and gave you a Buddhist son's sarira. It's said that the Arhat left it behind before he died, and it's been passed down for a thousand years. It only bloomed when it met Lulu, the fated one." Lu huaijiang picked up the sarira that had fallen down.
He pinched it, but it was still hot.
His left hand was so hot that it was about to break.
Lu huaijiang secretly gritted his teeth. Was this damn monk targeting him?
You died a thousand years ago, when did this Prince ever provoke him?
The little girl took the sarira and gently placed it on her cheek. Her little face showed a rare expression of admiration.
Lu huaijiang frowned slightly, as if there was something he didn't know.
