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Northern Shore.
The mountain wind howled, and snow swirled through the air. Snow began to fall again for no reason, piling up in thick white layers around the pavilion, creating a lively yet pristine scene.
But at the foot of the mountain, along the river, a great number of cultivators were locked in battle with monks. The sounds of killing shook the heavens, like a blood-stained painting against the white snow, dyeing the rocks on both sides dark red.
The north had only been calm for half a year, yet large numbers of monks had once again crossed the river. Like fearless locusts, they charged headlong into the grand formation constructed by the lake cultivators. The conflict continued to escalate. There had already been repeated clashes between Foundation Establishment Realm cultivators and Master Monks in just three days.
Li Zhouwei rarely changed into white robes, but now he stood quietly within the pavilion. Li Ximing had just stepped out of the great void and was pouring tea from a teapot. He was about to speak when he saw someone fly in through the heavy snow and fall to his knees.
Li Ximing immediately stopped speaking and glanced over. Kneeling in the snow was a restrained man in long robes, his forehead pressed to the ground, his expression...
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