The ghostly black mists hovered in the air, taking on the shape of a man in black Daoist robes.

He had strange features and bright red eyes, and baleful mists churned around him. Countless vengeful spirits and aggrieved souls formed within the mist, as if he were a ghost king straight from the hells of the Netherworld.

“You fled in terror?” said the man in Daoist robes, his sharp voice stinging the ears.

The ghost bats hanging from the nearby peach trees silently opened their eyes. Their irises were bright red, like blazing candles. Packed together beneath the canopy, they were an eerie, imposing sight.

“That’s right. He was an extremely terrifying yao cultivator, whose presence filled both heaven and earth. Even just watching from afar left me beside myself with fright,” said the woman, quivering with fright.

“A yao cultivator? Did that Qing Luo person who’s taken up residence halfway up the mountain attack?” asked the man in Daoist robes.

The woman shook her head. “It didn’t… It didn’t seem like Qing Luo.”

“Strange. Guangling City is small and ordinary. None of its martial artists have stepped onto the path of a true cultivator. How did...