"Walking often along the river shores, how could someone not wet their shoes…."
"Exploring too many night paths, one would surely run into a ghost…."
"Hunt too many wild geese, one's eye will one day be pecked out…."
Within the empty black hall, Fang Xing sighed while sweeping the empty hall with a broom, his voice filled with unmatched hopelessness, unmatched helplessness, and unmatched despair. It was as though he had completely fallen into the deepest pit of his life and was unable to escape. He was like dead ash right now, his heart even more silent than an old monk's. He was even entertaining the thought of entering a buddhist sect to become a monk himself.
Who the hell would've imagined he'd actually come into contact with the Mask of Wanluo's creator inside the Snowy Mountain's depths? When he'd realized such a terrifying truth, Fang Xing felt as though he'd been nailed to a pole at the center of a circle of bandits!
