The west peak of White Pond Mountain was slightly larger than Han Li had imagined.
Not only was there an ancient Buddhist temple on the mountain peak, there were also more than ten stone kiosks of varying sizes, each with a group of several cultivators chatting around them.
Naturally, there were a few straggling cultivators that wandered about the kiosks and the temple.
It seemed that they were those who had impatiently arrived early for the White Pond Mountain’s meeting.
Han Li observed the mountain peak from the air for a moment before spiralling down and landing in an obscure corner.
Soon after, Han Li walked to the nearby stone kiosks with Crooked Soul in tow.
Because of Han Li’s powerful spiritual sense, he was soon able to clearly hear the whispered discussions of the cultivators within the kiosks.
One of the whispered conversations in particular captured Han Li’s attention.
