In a dimly lit room.
Master Zikong tried his best to soften the tone of his questioning.
Yet the man, clutching his damp pants, cowered in a corner.
Every time he answered a question, he couldn’t help but glance fearfully at the shadow in the corner.
The young man in the black robe sat silently on a wooden chair, eyes wandering aimlessly, seeming distracted.
But his fingertips tapping lightly on the table sent shivers through the man’s entire body.
The man hastily turned his head back to stare at Master Zikong, as if he wanted to pull out his own heart to prove his words.
Shen Yi had no interest in matters concerning the Bodhi Sect.
Mainly because he couldn’t understand any of it.
He quietly stared through the crack in the wall at the sacrificial altar, looking at the kind-faced rat-headed deity statue, gradually sinking into thought.
Master Zikong was a practitioner comparable to a seventh-grade True Immortal.
If he were placed in Hongze, his status would be equivalent to another Shi Ren, holding the ultimate life-and-death authority over countless living beings.
But in his actions, he was as immature as a child.
To Shen Yi’s eyes, this actually caused a slight horror.
The reason was simple.