The Moss Ridge is shrouded in fog and rain.
The pressure of the dharma of the scholar in the azure robe envelops the entire mountain ridge.
After a slap.
The eyes of the Hidden Cultivator became much clearer.
He collapsed into the mud, his complexion pale, and felt a hint of fear in his heart.
Chen Jingxuan is a Yang God?
This news had never been heard before—
Someone who had long resided in the Imperial City and was recently bedridden with severe illness could actually cultivate into a Yang God!
"Mr. Chen..."
The Hidden Cultivator gritted his teeth, struggling to say something more.
This time he was much more polite.
But his words were cut off again.
"Scram."
Chen Jingxuan spat out one word.
