The Secluded Valley was in disarray, filled with a pungent stench of blood.
The Daoist of Purification squatted by the Jade Pond, looking at the waters tainted red with monster blood, casually rinsing the mud from his hands.
Chunyang Zi, that old fool, insisted on burying the body himself and wanted to use his hands; he had clearly wanted to thrust his sword at Yan Xingkong earlier, yet now he posed with a heavy heart.
With this thought, the Daoist of Purification turned his head to look towards the distant grave mounds, his eyes fleeting with emotion.
Having witnessed the deplorable state of Yan Xingkong's wife, he could understand the thief a bit more; had his own closest kin been treated so cruelly, his blood would have boiled to the point of losing reason too.
