The vast ocean was azure and boundless.
The gray warships were docked at the shore, seagulls flew across the sky, disappearing without a trace.
Taking all this in, the robed elder with graying hair sighed, stood beside the window of the Quiet Room, and turned slightly to look at the middle-aged man sitting cross-legged.
He was clad in a light blue robe, his eyes tightly shut, expressionless.
The Flying Dragon pattern on his clothes was vivid, and the arm that was supposed to be severed seemed to have been quietly reattached without any visible scars.
No one spoke, yet the atmosphere was inexplicably solemn.
Tap, tap!
Footsteps approached quickly.
Jiang Yunshan, with his injuries recovered, appeared at the door of the Quiet Room. His complexion was not very good, the residual shock plainly visible to anyone.
Just one glance was enough for the gray-robed elder to find the answer.
"I've said before, we shouldn't have given him time."
