In the front yard, the Taoists had just organized the tourists to leave when they heard Taoist Wuchen cry out in pain. The Peach Wood Sword in his hand broke in response, and then he spat a mouthful of fresh blood and fell straight to the ground.
"Master!"
"Master, how are you?"
The other disciples couldn't hold on either, and the array of interwoven blue and golden light collapsed instantly.
Changyou roared angrily, took a step forward, and the ground shook instantly. Meanwhile, one side of the wing of the Purple Mist Hall was already smashed by his fist.
The sound and tremor reached the backyard.
"Is this really going to work or not?" The tourist clutched his head and couldn't even speak properly.
"Didn't the Purple Mist Hall try before? They not only failed but also had several disciples injured."
"Then aren't we doomed? Damn it, it's a temple, shouldn't some God show up to help us?"
"The Daoists can't even protect themselves, let alone us."
...
