Before the sword-light even arrived, an immense pressure bore down from above, making it difficult for Xuanyuan and his party to breathe.
The sword-light dissipated before the sect gate, revealing a gaunt, withered old man.
The old man wore a crimson-gold Daoist robe, the kind exclusive to the elders of the Celestial Furnace Sect.
On the robe, a flame totem seemed to flow and swirl slowly.
His face was gaunt, his eye sockets deep-set, and his eyes held nothing but a cold indifference.
He leaned on a cane polished from the bone of some unknown beast, its tip inlaid with a dull, gray orb.
"Xuanyuan of Qingxu Temple respectfully welcomes… respectfully welcomes Mr. Huohua."
Xuanyuan bowed low, not daring to raise his head and look the man in the eye.
'Why is he here?'
'Isn't the Celestial Furnace Sect's Tithing day still more than half a month away?'
'Why have they come to collect the Tithing so early this time?'
