Now Li Zhiyuan, aside from being stuck here waiting to die, can do nothing else; whether he kills or not is meaningless.
The front end of the procession stopped before the offering table left by Li Zhiyuan.
The monks chanted sutras, a surge of faith gathering to form flowing golden light, a large, jade-like hand emerged from the light, raising a finger and pointing forward.
"Buzz!"
Like rippling waves, a miserable scream echoed, endless ghostly figures spilled out, wandering along the entire Ghost Street.
Even though the monks along the entire street were chanting scriptures, they still couldn't suppress the slight overflow of ghost energy at that moment.
Li Zhiyuan screened out the noise of the Fierce Ghost's roar, now he heard a faint sound of flowing water.
It's not raining, nor a dockland, but indeed there's a river, as if descending from Heaven, smoothed down, flowing toward this direction.
This is... Jiang Shui.
