"Whose kid is this? Bring him here immediately, or I won't start the altar a second time if my spell fails," to my surprise, the Great Immortal's ears were so sharp; he could hear my faint muttering. If he had been standing next to me, I wouldn't have said anything, but he was on the stage, nearly ten meters away from me.
"Old Chen, keep an eye on your son and stop him from talking," the village chief glanced toward me from the stage, then shouted at my father.
"Alright, alright, he'll stop talking; you can start now," my father replied to the village chief and then turned to me, signaling me to keep quiet and just watch the commotion.
Of course, my father's words to me were merely a formality, a courtesy to the village chief. If I'm not mistaken, my whole family came to see the spectacle—after all, I'm a Disciple of Mount Mao. Even if there were ghostly entities, we wouldn't be afraid. Besides, we have a Home Guardian at home; they've all seen it.
