Beneath the Bodhi tree.
Ye Xuan sat cross-legged with the warmth of a spring rain, Buddha Light swirling behind him and his face wearing a serene smile, as immovable and silent as an old monk in meditation.
Primordial Spirit, mysterious and profound, his body shrouded in black fog, his aura obscure and indistinct. To the naked eye, he stood right in front of Ye Xuan, but by sense alone, one couldn't detect his presence.
The void fluctuated, murderous intent flickered. The Primordial Spirit had never hesitated like this; because Ye Xuan was too important to him, important enough that if Ye Xuan truly died at this moment, everything would start over for him.
