Zhao Wujiang climbed up the stairs, his mood becoming more and more peaceful.
Different from last time.
Last time he came to find Yang Miaozhen, this time he came to find the truth.
It stands to reason that the closer you get to the truth, the more nervous you should be.
But he, Zhao Wujiang, did not.
He had deduced the truth countless times in his mind.
Why don't powerful people of heaven level appear in the world?
Why is Daxia facing a multi-party war?
Why was Empress Xuanyuan's lineage so cursed?
Why did the Jade Account King Gu Han look at him with pity when he told him something vaguely?
Why does the high priest want to tell himself something but hesitates?
Why did the divine fortune teller make a move on himself and bring him so many opportunities?
Why does the sword master keep retreating in the sword tomb?
There were so many reasons why, so many things he wanted to know.
The truth lies in the Renzong and the divine fortune teller. Zhao Wujiang knows that the divine fortune teller must know most of the causes and consequences, or even all of them.
He was already standing in front of the main hall of the main peak of the Renzong. The hall was full of people, who seemed to have been waiting for him.
There were elders of the Renzong, many disciples of the Renzong, and the Holy Son of the Renzong in the hall, but there was no shadow of Yang Miaozhen, the saint of the Renzong, nor the figure of the Taoist leader of the Renzong.
Zhao Wujiang smiled gently, without any restraint, his eyes were calm and without any waves, and he strode towards the palace.
He looked at everyone from the corner of his eye without any trace.
The elders had different expressions, ranging from disdain to regret.
Most of the disciples still had awe in their eyes, but Liu Jicang, the Saint of the Human Sect, had been taught a lesson by Zhao Wujiang before and became fearful. Now the fear has disappeared without a trace, and his eyes are filled with ridicule and ridicule.
The great elder of the Renzong still maintained his celestial spirit, with a sighing look on his face. He was also one of the few people who paid homage to Zhao Wujiang.
"The Taoist leader is waiting for you behind." The great elder said gently with kind eyes.
Zhao Wujiang nodded and returned the greeting with cupped fists.
He made his way through the crowd.
Liu Jicang crossed his arms and looked at Zhao Wujiang sideways. He wanted to speak several times but held back, but the sarcasm in his eyes was even deeper.
When Zhao Wujiang passed by Liu Jicang, Liu Jicang flew backwards and hit the big pillar in the hall, and blood gushed out from his mouth and nose.
"Zhao Wujiang, how dare you!" The third elder shouted angrily, and many disciples of the Renzong also looked at him angrily.
Zhao Wujiang smiled faintly, then walked towards the back of the palace and said loudly:
"No matter what time, I, Zhao Wujiang, can never be messed with by some cats and dogs!
The same goes for you old guy. You gave Renzong face last time. If you say one more thing this time, you will end up like your apprentice. "
"You!" The third elder was furious. The last time they were defeated by Zhao Wujiang, this time they originally thought that the Taoist leader was in the sect, so Zhao Wujiang would never dare to be too arrogant. Unexpectedly, Zhao Wujiang would be even more arrogant than last time.
There are several elders beside him who are holding the third elder tightly to prevent him from acting impulsively. No matter what Zhao Wujiang's fate is in the future, they may not be able to defeat the current Zhao Wujiang together unless the Supreme Elder takes action himself.
The first elder glanced sideways at the third elder, sighed and shook his head.
The atmosphere was tense and many people remained silent.
Zhao Wujiang walked towards the rear of the palace in a calm voice.
He saw a middle-aged Taoist sitting on a futon, looking at him with a smile, holding an oil lamp in his hand, the candle light flickering.
This middle-aged Taoist was wearing an old and even tattered Taoist robe. When he smiled, there were deep wrinkles at the corners of his eyes, as if thousands of fates had climbed up his cheeks.
A head full of withered white hair, not bound by a Taoist crown, only a palm-long peach wood hairpin randomly passed through the pulled-up hair, which looked a bit messy.
The Taoist looked like a waning old man who was about to die soon.
"Here you are, sit down." The Taoist said in a gentle tone, like a kind elder.
A futon appeared next to Zhao Wujiang, and the door behind him slowly closed.
Zhao Wujiang gently tossed the hem of his Confucian shirt, sat on the futon, and smiled gently:
"I am coming."
