Behind him were two graceful young maids, treading on mist, exuding an immortal aura.
As Lu Chang'sheng grew wary, Old Wolf suddenly lifted his brush. The smoky air before them twisted and whirled, then solidified into several written characters.
Lu Chang'sheng's heart skipped a beat, a trace of regret surfacing deep within him.
Because the strangeness before his eyes looked nothing like the work of some ordinary artifact; so his idea to 'trade' with the other was clearly unwise.
If the other party wielded some immortal technique, could he, an Innate Martial Artist, withstand it?
"Hoo~"
Old Wolf finished writing, as if laying down some heavy shackle, exhaled a long breath, then grinned and said, "To steal a sliver of leisure in these years — this humble Daoist, taking the law as a medium, begs you for a thread of immortal fate!"
"Immortal fate? What do you mean?" Lu Chang'sheng's heart thumped again.
