The dozen or so Witch Clan masters turned and quickly retreated.
Ancestor Witch Xuan Ming sat quietly on the stone seat, her narrow phoenix eyes reflecting a trace of contemplation, fingertips surrounded by wisps of cyan-blue immortal light.
Li Ping'an, hidden in the crevices of Immortal Huanglong's palm scales, did not dare to focus his gaze directly on Xuan Ming. He spread a weak strand of immortal consciousness beside Huanglong's hand, through which he observed a blurry scene.
The light in the great hall had dimmed considerably.
Jie Yin's fifth disciple, Immortal Qia Feng, had not left and seemed to be pondering something.
'Had they premeditated this?'
Li Ping'an carefully recalled the details before and after the event, feeling a growing sense of confusion.
Many thoughts flowed through his mind like water.
To say Li Ping'an wasn't frightened at this moment would be self-deception.
