The ancestral master's underground palace was brightly lit.
And the ancestral master, or rather, his spectral figure, stood in front of Tang, tilting his head and looking at him.
The spectral figure was faint, but the face was still clear; it was the image of the ancestral master in his youth.
The ancestral master wore a loosely fitted blue Taoist robe, his hair bun was neat, and his thin cheeked, almond-shaped eyes looked at Tang with interest.
"Boring, just teasing you, look how scared you are, don't say you're my descendant when you go out." The ancestral master's spectral figure glanced at the still-unconscious Tang and Hu Jiusan and shook his head.
"You, you didn't die? You've lived until now?" Tang wasn't afraid, but curious.
"Thinking too much, kid." The spectral figure of the ancestral master laughed, "Everything in the world has its end, even rocks, and so do I."
