As the morning bell shattered the golden dust coating the final shards of rubble, Pi Yanlin’s fingertips traced the blood-written characters on the stone slab.
He crouched amidst the ruins of the altar, a charred scrap of prayer banner still clinging to the nape of his neck. Unaware of it, he rubbed his thumb repeatedly over the eight characters: "Karma Wheel, altar to be restarted."
"The Lord Saint Sovereign is making his move personally," he said, his voice languid, though the tail end of his sentence carried a weight three times heavier than usual.
Chapter 96