Jiang Yi had always been the clear-headed type, able to keep a proper perspective.
He knew full well that before one's profound potential was realized, it was like a pie in the sky promised by a superior—it might smell delicious, but it was useless if you couldn't eat it.
Despite having the perfect [Saint King] fate, he was still just a "Lower Cultivator" at the Qi Cultivation Seventh Layer. Naturally, he had no reason to refuse a task assigned by the Sect Leader.
'Even if I become the Daoist of an Ancestral Sect tomorrow, I still have to figure out how to get through today.'
Jiang Yi put away his Sleeve Pouch, gave Liu Huan a Daoist salute, and turned to leave.
Back at the Gao Village ancestral hall, Yang Xun, who had been in meditative seclusion, opened his eyes and awoke.
A small cluster of fiery patterns, about the thickness of a pinky finger, appeared between his eyebrows, glowing brightly.
