To deal with this old cunning fox, since it's time to beat the dog that's fallen into the water, kill him, catching him off guard.
Sharpening the knife, eradication from the roots.
...
For cultivators, time is a relative concept.
Especially for high-tier great cultivators, often a single meditation session can mean several months have passed.
So, a short year and two months of time.
For Zheng Yi, it's a blink of an eye, let alone for Venerable Blood Mist, who also hardly felt the passage of time.
He meditates quietly, the blood mist completely covering his body, amidst the heavy shadows and darkness, it feels as if endless gods and demons are swaying behind him.
Venerable Blood Mist closes his eyelids, like a stubborn rock that withstands the wind and rain without moving an inch.
In fact, the entire exit of the small space has been shrouded by his divine thought, not even half a fly could fly in, nor half a mosquito could fly out.
