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The great water cultivated here is scarlet and foul-smelling, lingering for a long time.
At this moment, in the very center of the Seven Saint Marsh, lies an indescribably vast lotus leaf, with veins that meander like mountain ranges. Dewdrops fall along its edges, substantial enough to inundate a grand prefecture city if they descended to the Mortal Realm.
No matter how magnificent a figure stands upon this lotus leaf, they appear as insignificant as a grain of rice.
In such a place teeming with demon energy, a group of monks has gathered.
Dozens of Arhats stand in neat formation, a configuration usually reserved for the extermination of a Great Demon. Yet at this moment, they all place one hand vertically on their chest, eyes lowered, reciting Buddhist scriptures, without revealing their Golden Body.
