In the Pear Garden.
It was a desolate sight, ruined and decayed.
Everything seemed to be burning to ashes.
Fang Yang's gaze was indifferent, his robes fluttering. With eyes as deep as the abyss, he looked at the middle-aged man and the group of Blood Temple disciples with a smile that wasn't quite a smile.
The middle-aged man's expression was dull, and his face turned pale, but he still forced a smile.
"What does the Demon Lord mean by this?"
"In life, we are the people of the Blood Temple; in death, we are the ghosts of the Blood Temple. We are loyal to the Blood Temple, we have no other masters behind the scenes. Our master is the Demon Lord."
"Is that so?"
Fang Yang gave a faint smile and flicked his finger.
In an instant, specks of black flame flew from his fingertips, swiftly enveloping the middle-aged man and the other Blood Temple disciples.
Boom!
The flames suddenly began to burn fiercely, scalding hot.
Burning away all nothingness.
