"It seems this Wuyi Stone is indeed of poor quality—"
Before he could finish speaking, the red characters he had written on the stone suddenly turned into black ash, transforming into a mist that dissipated.
The poem written at the center of the Wuyi Monument, each word began to glow with a reddish luster. Those strands of light, like sword light, shone through from the monument.
The middle-aged man in scholarly robes glanced at it, only to feel a sharp pain in his eyes, his body stinging, as if the sword formed from the poetic intent had pierced his body thousands of times.
His Primordial Spirit suffered intense pain, causing the scholar to intuitively hold his head and grunt.
"What's this about?" At this moment, the numerous guests crowding around the monument were all taken aback, their expressions filled with astonishment and disbelief as they looked at the 'former Zhixian'.
"What's going on?"
"Why did the color of his Hao Qi change?"
