One was a monk, wearing Buddhist robes and a compassionate expression.
The other was a long-haired elder, wearing a wide robe covered in strange patterns.
Wu Du looked at the two people before him, a flicker of fear passing through his eyes:
"Priest Wu Yan, Mingshan..."
A slight hint of helplessness appeared on Mingshan's clean face:
"You really don't know how to act. You wanted to draw him out, but it seems this kid had already guessed from your words that I can read minds. He deliberately made up stories in his mind, concealing his true intentions, and buying time."
Astounded, Wu Du's face turned pale.
However, the long-haired elder did not speak, but gently spread his palm.
His palm now had a thin, neat scar. The blood seemed to seep out, but was restricted by an invisible force.
The old man's face showed slight hint of respect:
"I was wounded by a golden core... "
