Only Daoist Ling Xia was at a complete loss, having gained nothing at all.
But he had clearly benefited greatly the last few times.
Why had he gained nothing from listening to the thunder's roar this time?
Daoist Ling Xia's heart was filled with terror, but he didn't dare make a scene. He waited for the crowd to disperse before quietly departing with them.
Daoist Qing Feng sat in the Hall of Roaring Thunder, watching the crestfallen Daoist Ling Xia and shaking his head. He thought to himself:
'A hundred years of cultivation wasted on him. He doesn't even understand that trouble comes from a loose tongue!
When Han Qiang and I complain, we do it in private. How could we dare speak so recklessly in public?'
As a veteran of the Hongde Blessed Land, Daoist Qing Feng's understanding was far deeper than Daoist Ling Xia's.
