The Pavilion-Guarding Old Man’s snoring mumble of "take a puff... and the ash is gone" stuck in Chen Mo's throat like a jagged grain of sand. Clutching the scroll of the Sword Observation Manual, he stood amidst the wreckage of the Sword Pavilion, gazing at the huge breach in the entrance smashed by the true form of the Bone-Eroding Old Devil. The cold wind howled inside, sending swirling scraps of paper dancing across the floor. The old man was curled up in the battered bamboo chair, his breathing even, the threadbare Purple Clay Teapot rising and falling gently with his breath—as if it hadn't been him a moment ago who swallowed demonic qi with a pipe and blew away the old devil with a single breath, but rather some neighbor next door.
Awe? Yes, but mostly a stifling frustration. A belly full of questions felt as heavy and dragging as a hemp sack stuffed with stones. Was the true meaning of "sweeping ash" simply watching immortals smoke a dry pipe? Was his fledgling bit of "Seeing Truth" meant so that he could spot mildew spores in pipe tobacco later on?
"Woof." A lazy greeting came from beside his feet. The Husky had swallowed that Bone-Eroding Origin Demon Crystal, and now the clear radiance flowing around its body seemed even softer and more restrained. Its dog eyes were half-closed, exuding a post-meal laziness and... an imperceptible satisfaction? It nudged Chen Mo's calf with its snout and jerked its head toward the broken hole at the entrance.
Chapter 81