"Ye Zhuo, stay in the Corpse Wine for now."
Li Mo didn't wait for Ye Zhuo Daoist to reply and directly threw him into the Doulu Tripod, using the Corpse Wine to suppress the potential loss of control from his mutation.
Ye Zhuo Daoist had nearly succumbed to deviation just by passing through a mortal town.
It's hard to imagine the fate of cultivators who usually slay demons and banish ghosts. Eighty percent of them likely became monsters under the distortion of all sentient beings' willpower.
"They're here."
"Prepare yourselves, we're about to set off on the journey to the Immortal Realm."
As soon as Li Mo finished speaking, the surface of Jianmu revealed hand-drawn-like patterns, alongside twisted hieroglyphic symbols that seemed steeped in thousands of years of history.
He suspected that Zu Xiuyun had forcibly inserted the story of the twelve Jianmu into the records, fabricating a myth that was now gradually manifesting.
