The evening breeze swayed, and the night was as clear as water.
In the green bamboo courtyard, the bleating of sheep rose and fell, filled with urgency and indignation, as one sheep tried to break free from the tether.
At this moment, the bamboo sprung up like swords, turning swiftly into hundreds of green whips, their tips sweeping with a frosty whoosh, striking fiercely at the sheep.
When the bamboo whips fell, they shattered into bamboo chips. In the next instant, new whips crazily extended from the depths of the bamboo forest, repeating the cycle. The whip shadows formed a dense net, leaving bloodstains on the sheep's body, drawing cries of agony as the sheep fell to the ground.
Enough whipping!
Asura felt that the bamboo whips not only injured his body but also lashed at his primordial spirit, causing a splitting headache, and unbearable suffering, leaving his consciousness blurry.
At this moment, a voice sounded by his ear, aged and exclamatory,
