"How long have these symptoms persisted?"
In and around the pavilion stood seven or eight masters of the Xuan Nu Sect; Wu Wang couldn't simply sit down, so he had to stand behind the stone table. He looked at the Daoist before him, almost entirely wrapped in coarse cloth, asking in a concerned voice, "Let the Primordial Spirit that usually speaks for you come out and talk."
He couldn't directly say the word 'personality', so he had to conform to the local custom and call it 'Primordial Spirit Split'.
Daoist Wan Cai's body trembled slightly. His left sleeve hung empty; the arm that had been flung off moments ago was now burned to residue by a white flame.
He said in a low voice, "Several... several thousand years."
"You said just now that you're not a member of the Ten Evils Hall?"
