For a while, the Soul Gathering Altar was full of thanks, and the monks surrounded the golden robe monk, eager to worship him as their teacher immediately.
They regarded the golden-robed monk as a savior, but they didn’t know that they had fallen into an abyss of irreversibility.
The golden-robed monk pretended to wave his hand modestly, but a hint of imperceptible cruelty flashed in his eyes.
These people have lost part of their souls, and the smoothness of their spiritual energy is just a temporary illusion, and it won’t be long before they find that their cultivation is not advancing but retreating, and even their spiritual intelligence is damaged, but by then, they have long become the “nourishment” in the soul urn.
He was secretly thinking in his heart, and a smug sneer appeared on the corner of his mouth.
“Foolish.”
In the corner, Chen Ping’s voice with cold mockery clearly reached everyone’s ears.
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