Yan Hui Valley.
Zhao clan's great immortal temple.
Yin Qi spread out and the entire temple seemed to be covered with a layer of gray-black gauze. It was dark and cold.
Grey-black Frost quietly condensed on the ground.
Fu xuanxu stood in the air, his hands constantly making complicated hand seals. He was surrounded by yellow-brown talismans, and countless mysterious cloud banners were constantly wriggling and intertwining on the talismans. Invisible forces crisscrossed, forming a small defensive array with clear light.
In front, behind, left, right, and even under his head and feet, there were all kinds of strange-shaped ghosts with strong Yin Qi.
"Hehe ... Hehehe ... Hehe ..."
The shrill and ear-piercing laughter continued, and pairs of malicious eyes stared straight at Fu xuanxu. The ghosts circled him quickly, and the soul-shaking shrieks were like a tide, attacking the talisman array wave after wave.
