On Yaoyue Peak, Monk Qingchan’s withered, wrinkled face—resembling a dried mandarin orange peel—began to shed its rotting dark yellow at a speed visible to the naked eye. The ashen aura of death receded like a receding tide!
In its place was a death-pale complexion, born of surviving a catastrophe and exhausted to the absolute limit!
The dim, golden speck of the Buddha imprint at the center of his brow finally broke free completely from the silkworm-like erosion of the dark purple demonic patterns. Though still as dim as a bean, it radiated an unprecedented light of pure glazed glass.
Chapter 355