He spoke while rising, politely escorting Li Yan and the others to the temple gate.
Watching Li Yan and his group's backs disappear at the long street's corner, the smile on Zhang Jingqing's face slowly faded, becoming deep and inscrutable.
Behind him, the Taoist apprentice who had just registered couldn't help but step forward and whisper, "Master, they refused, what should we do?"
Zhang Jingqing's gaze was distant as he looked at the majesty of Jinling's city walls in the distance, humming softly, "What do you understand? Rejection is better."
The apprentice was stunned, "Huh? Why?"
"A tall tree attracts the wind."
Zhang Jingqing stroked his beard, his voice calm, "The name of the Twelve Primordial Spirits is so well-known that in Jiangnan, Maoshan, Lushan, and those old foxes in the Tiger Gate, who wouldn't be wary of them?"
