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But in this era, even cultivators scrambled to secure official posts and salaries. How could ordinary people possibly believe that their ancestors had once stood shoulder to shoulder with gods and demons?
“I understand.” He Lingchuan reached into his robe, took out the red medicine, and carefully dripped five drops into Elder Liang’s empty vial.
Elder Liang glanced at his disciple, who immediately slipped out of the tent.
A quarter of an hour later, the young man returned with a wooden bead.
This was a seabed wood bead, the kind specially refined to house a beast soul.
He Lingchuan took it and probed its aura. It felt like the soul of a giant ape.
Not bad, they didn’t cheap out.
Elder Liang gave him a brief, reserved smile. His expression settled back into its accustomed calm.
Watching the elder’s departing back, He Lingchuan shrugged.
The history spanning nearly three thousand years between the Heavenly Demon and the present was complex. You could not blame everything on the Heavenly Demon’s skill at temptation or on the common people’s forgetfulness. The immortal sects and Daoist lineages had done plenty of unseemly things of their own, actions that had tarnished the great deeds of their forebears and steadily eroded their image in the hearts of the people.
Those parts, Elder Liang had very pointedly left out. However, in the Panlong Dreamscape’s Literature Pavilion, where He Lingchuan had chewed on old books as if they were dry rations, he had read quite a few works that told the other side of the story. He was not about...
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