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But there were eleven people in the scene.
The God of Mount Bu Zhou sat in the main seat, brewing a pot of tea with spring water from the mountains, poured out nine cups, and served them in front of everyone.
The only one standing, Taoist Lord Divine Spirit, saw that he not only had no seat, but also no cup of tea, and even with his considerable composure, he felt some anger at this moment.
He was not some unknown minor character, but a newly ascended Daoist Venerable.
Apart from the others present who had been Daoist Venerables for a longer time or were stronger than him, they were equals.
So this is the local cultivators bullying the cultivators from the Lower Realm, huh?
His gaze turned to the God of Mount Bu Zhou, as he needed an explanation.
Otherwise, with his strength, he could well not be dependent on the Human Race; the Spirit Realm was vast, with no shortage of places to go.
