After receiving the news, the Confucian Cultivator Group of the Myriad Images Sect could no longer sit still.
Duanmu Zhang, Chu Xuangu, Nangong Zhi, Li Guanyu, and others urgently gathered in a study.
The study was brightly lit as if it were daytime, with portraits of sages hanging on the walls, looking solemn and heavy in the firelight, as if the eyes of the ancients were gazing upon this group of juniors through the ages.
Chu Xuangu furrowed his brows deeply: "That Ning Zhuo kid is getting deeper and deeper. Swearing under the True Words Bell makes this matter as good as settled."
Li Guanyu whispered, "He's had it too easy, inevitably leading to impulsiveness."
Nangong Zhi sighed softly, "Is there still no response from Daoist Wen Ruanyu?"
Duanmu Zhang shook his head.
They had secretly relayed Ning Zhuo's latest situation, but Wen Ruanyu remained silent, the message sinking into oblivion.
