When the Moon was full, the ghostly cries of the god-burying desert grew increasingly shrill, giving off a feeling of Hell on Earth.
In a certain dangerous land, a cold wind blew, and black gas churned. Sometimes, ferocious and indistinct faces would protrude from the void, and at other times, hordes of vengeful spirits would wander about, absorbing Yang energy and extinguishing vitality.
At this moment, a middle-aged monk walked into this valley that no one had stepped into for tens of thousands of years. He wore a yellow monk robe and a bright red kasaya. His face was elegant and his appearance was thin. He was the chief monk of the Shaolin Bodhi Academy, Xuan Bei, his originally melancholic temperament had turned into a faint sorrow that pitied the heavens and pitied the people.
Whoosh!
