In the blink of an eye, three days had passed.
Before the Divine Temple, there was a strange, oppressive atmosphere. Some couldn't bear it and left with a sigh, while others approached, filled with doubt. But from beginning to end, the only ones who hadn't moved were the enigmatic youth Moo Li, Jian Bufan, Yuan Chong, Bing Yan, and their group.
In the air, there was also the Feather Race contingent. The silver-robed elder hadn't moved either, his hawk-like eyes fixed on the Divine Temple. Beside him, the young members of the Feather Race stood with solemn expressions. They tightly gripped longbows wreathed in Spiritual Light, their sharp intent causing the very air around them to churn.
These people wouldn't give up until the very last moment. Opportunity and crisis coexisted. Since there was a crisis, they believed there must also be an opportunity!
And similarly, one other person had not left.
It was Qiu Mo.
