.......
Heavenly Perception at its peak—so full it couldn't be fuller, practically overflowing.
If the Old Man hadn't been forcing himself to suppress it, he could've broken through in a flash.
Sure enough, the Crooked-Mouth Old Man rose up in a twisting, absurd motion.
He looked pretty cheeky.
He was so happy he was practically skipping.
Like a grinning old kid, he slapped his hand over his mouth: “ba-ba-ba-ba-ba-ba.......”
“Done, done, Taoist Master is done, Taoist Master has recovered, Taoist Master’s Heavenly Perception nine layers is completely full, hey!!!!!”
When he shouted “hey,” something seemed to glitch.
His eyes blinked rapidly a few times.Biubiu—a stray golden beam veered left, shooting out again like it was playing around.
“Hahahahahaha, it works, it works splendidly—my golden pupils work again.”
After saying that, he realized he wasn't exactly acting like a dignified nine-layer Heavenly Perception master anymore.
His slanted eyes split the work: each looked separately to the left and right.
A quick glance around.
Hey! Nobody!
Well, that settled it.
The Old Man cared most about mindset; he liked entertaining himself. After being cooped up in an underground palace for centuries, wouldn't anyone go slightly mad?
He casually flung open his Daoist robe.
His head started scheming.
He'd recovered so fast thanks entirely to the five-colored deer antler Lu Ding had gotten for him.
This thing—no need to mince words—was the real deal!
Extremely useful.
Although Lu Ding had acted casual about it at the time, the thing was precious.
Repay kindness with greater kindness—when Lu Ding got the Old Man a national treasure to restore his injuries, the Old Man would not be ungrateful.
If Lu Ding could fetch a national treasure to restore him, then the Old Man would reward him with many treasures in return.
As for the nations that lost their national treasures and wailed? That was none of the Old Man's problem.
If they couldn't accept it, they'd have to bottle it up—if they couldn't stand it, they'd act out later and could always claim they simply fell and got hurt.
In the Third Circle—this little patch of turf—maybe some folks above them had influence, but whoever oversaw the Crooked-Mouth Old Man? Nobody.
He fished out his phone.
Just as he was about to open navigation, his mind suddenly sparked.
“We're both recovered—who still needs this worthless gadget?”
He pocketed the phone, formed a hand seal, and pointed at the sky.
“Over there!!”
He shot up from the ground!!!
Speed maxed out.
In the air, the Old Man's already crooked mouth now nearly connected to the back of his head.
“Refreshing!! This feels damn good!!!”
He'd craved being at full strength for too long.
He'd had his account sealed, couldn't use his strength, had to rely on artifacts—that had stung.
How unfair!
Now he could finally stretch his limbs.
Taoist Master, here I come!
Over ten thousand kilometers, two footprints.
One at takeoff, one at landing.
He stopped dead in front of the Holy Land Church, unabashedly displaying the full-force aura of his nine layers of Heavenly Perception.
Arms folded, crooked mouth, he extended a hand.
“Where're your lousy rags? Send them out to Taoist Master—lend them to me for a bit.”
After all, this was the Holy Land Church.
The place had to be properly equipped, of course—several Heavenly Perception members stepped forward instantly, eyes resolute, footsteps heavy.
They looked imposing enough to bend no one.
“Strongfolk from the Great Han, please leave at once—this place sleeps...”
Slap!!!!!
A round, thunderous slap hit with dramatic effect, like an avalanche or a tidal wave—deafening.
The Old Man tilted his eyes, a lightbulb seeming to go off in his head, and with his crooked mouth he spat out: “Baka!!!”
“You handed it over fast, so don't refuse the wine and then be forced to drink the penalty wine.”
Truth be told, the Crooked-Mouth Old Man was that kind of person.
When he caused trouble outside, other people's IPs often took the hit.
Seeing him suddenly strike, the other Heavenly Perception members only just reacted.
Although the Old Man's eyes were slanted, that didn't mean he couldn't see.
Don't be ridiculous—someone standing guard and someone keeping watch would be highly alert.
As they watched this group about to move in, the Old Man couldn't hold back.
He'd been indulged far too much!
What rank are you, and what status is the Old Man?
His account had just been unbanned, his Heavenly Perception nine layers full—he had to get the blood flowing.
He went straight in with a flurry of slaps.
He smacked those Heavenly Perception members like they were grandchildren.
Still, the Old Man had his own odd logic: stealing isn't killing, so long as the thieves showed a little sense.
The slaps and the Old Man's arrogant voice rang out together.
“Slap!!!”
“Hit him!! Slap!”
“No!! Slap!!”
“Hit you!! Slap!!”
“See!! Slap!!”
Each hit struck harder, the rhythm heavier—divine beings would tremble at it.
By now, these Heavenly Perception members realized this guy was outrageously arrogant.
Could he possibly be from Tai Island?!
No way I believe that, but I sure as hell don't dare say it!
The Great Han was being watched by every nation in the Third Circle.
Nobody had ever heard of such a fierce old man from the Great Han.
So they couldn't be certain the Old Man was definitely from the Great Han.
Mainly because he'd hidden himself so well for centuries that he was effectively erased from records.
Want to investigate? Dream on.
Flip through the history books—you might not even find him.
A black hand, a recluse.
After he finished beating them, he looked at the trembling Heavenly Perception members huddled in a corner, covering their faces, and spoke in a clumsy Tai Islander-accented translation: “The Great Han has an old saying: those who act nice, are for the beauty.”
As he said this, his crooked mouth gaped and he seemed to itch at the philtrum, as if something was about to pop out.
“You cooperate, I be happy. You don't cooperate—die! Die, die!!”
As he spoke, his aura produced terrifying illusions.
The sky collapsing, earth sinking, mountains crumbling, tidal waves—an apocalypse-like scene swept over them, engulfing the world beneath the heavens.
Frightened, the Heavenly Perception members nodded repeatedly.
“Here! Here! We never said no!! Take it!! We give it!!”
The Old Man’s earlier violence had already shown his strength;
the fact they weren't killed was mercy enough.
Furthermore, leaving living witnesses was useful—burial shrouds are taboo-tainted; most people can't use them.
But a genuine Heavenly Perception powerhouse was different.
This was a strategic weapon.
Losing even one would lower a nation's strength—it's not worth it just to keep a burial shroud.
They immediately produced the burial shroud.
It wasn't anything special—just a dingy yellow scrap, radiating an unpleasant aura, with traces of age and stains mingled with the blood of its former owner.
It formed a crude, eerie pattern.
The Old Man crooked a finger to pinch the Holy Land Church's precious item.
A look of disgust flashed in his eyes.
“Didn't even bother to wash it—at your level, could you really ruin it by washing?”
The Heavenly Perception members from the Holy Land Church forced smiles.
The Old Man was too lazy to be bothered with them: “Alright, no need to deliver it.”
The Heavenly Perception members of the Holy Land Church: ........
Were they delivering it?
They wanted to ask, didn't you earlier say "lend"? When will you return it?
But the question stuck in their throats.
They couldn't ask.
They'd get hit.