Daoist Changmin by now was unable to move both of his legs, rendered completely immobile; he could only passively allow Xia Xin to drag him forward.
With Xia Xin dragging such a person, their speed of movement slowed significantly.
In almost the blink of an eye, Jiangli had already reached the front gates of Qingyun Temple.
Xia Xin, anxious like a cat on a hot tin roof, forcefully dragged Daoist Changmin, accelerating their pace.
Today was neither the first nor the fifteenth day of the lunar month, yet Qingyun Temple still had quite a few pilgrims; evidently, Qingyun Temple usually enjoyed prosperous incense offerings.
Jiangli took a glance, observing the bustling crowd within Qingyun Temple, and thought of Jiaoyang Temple.
A wave of frustration washed over her, as if hating that iron could not become steel.
What sort of place was Qingyun Temple, able to cultivate Xuanmen Disciples like Daoist Changmin? It was clear it wasn't anywhere commendable.
