"Ghosts!"
Inside Shansheng Hall, a scream echoed.
Monk Qingyu, clutching his badly gashed head, ran out.
Behind him, the Ancient Bronze Sword closely followed, thrusting and chopping, aiming straight for his bald pate.
Outside Shansheng Hall, the pilgrims were also frightened out of their wits, scurrying away with hands over their heads.
"Someone, come quick!"
Monk Qingyu sprinted frantically.
"Keep shouting, tear your throat out if you have to, might as well call over the several thousand pilgrims outside and everyone else from the temple."
A light, floating voice came from the side.
Monk Qingyu startled, turned his head, and saw that young girl from earlier squatting nearby, looking utterly relaxed, watching him being chased all over by the bronze sword.
It was thanks to this young girl's reminder that Monk Qingyu suddenly came back to his senses.
