Three years passed in a flick of the finger.
In the Pan Sword Sect, a cultivation dojo was situated halfway up the mountain, the ground paved with smooth cyan jade slabs, from the gaps of which faint spiritual qi subtly emanated.
At the center stood a tall dao platform over ten feet high, its body engraved with runes of energy introduction and spirit gathering, softly glowing.
At this moment, a middle-aged jade-faced daoist stood on the dao platform, dressed in a moon white Daoist robe, with a cyan jade belt around his waist—none other than the chief steward of the outer courtyard, Yellow Jade.
His expression was solemn and dignified, his voice clearly reaching every corner of the dojo:
