Almost at the same moment, the four figures around simultaneously shifted their gazes, coldly staring at Li Yuanjiao, all sorts of dharma light swirling in their pupils, manifold illusions blocked outside the Dharma Mirror. In Lu Jiangxian's heart, it was as if heaven and earth had collapsed—he was utterly terrified:
'Qing Song Temple! It's their trap! To lure me here!'
Lu Jiangxian held his voice and stilled his breath; his mind was a blank slate, silent as a statue. Fortunately, he did not reveal this scene to Li Yuanjiao outside—who noticed nothing at all, soaring upon the wind within his own palm.
Once the initial shock passed, Lu Jiangxian swiftly regained his composure:
"No… not me… they're after the descendant of Qing Song Temple, and Ying Ze Perfected Lord… I merely stumbled in by mistake… nearly got drawn out…"
He kept his eyes closed for over a dozen breaths, only to hear a faintly androgynous voice fall, like gold and stone melting, lead and mercury merging:
