His whole body showed not a hint of relaxation, as if he were completely focused on sensing something.
Beside the middle-aged Daoist stood three young men, all dressed in ordinary short-sleeved uniforms, clearly his disciples.
Each of the three had their own tasks: one stood solemnly at the side of the altar holding a Peach Wood Sword, another bent over arranging the stacked talisman papers.
The last one was intently watching the direction of the incense smoke in the burner, his eyes carrying a mix of tension and reverence, always ready to hand his master whatever he needed, not daring to slacken for a moment.
"Master, why hasn't that ghostly thing come up yet? Could it be that it's afraid of us?"
The young disciple on the far left clutched the Peach Wood Sword tightly, his voice deliberately imbued with false confidence.
Yet, he couldn't help but glance towards the pitch-black water in the distance, fearing that something might jump out the very next second.
