He looked around again and found that the once-crowded hall now held only him.
The old man stroked his snow-white beard, a smile on his face as he looked at Song Changsheng. "I have met countless people in my life. Your innate talent can only be considered Middle Lower, yet your comprehension is of the Upper Upper grade. Truly strange."
The sudden change startled Song Changsheng. A chill ran down his spine. 'Is this old man truly just a fabrication of the Sword Stele?'
Suppressing the shock and unease in his heart, Song Changsheng composed himself and gave the old man a solemn bow. "This junior pays his respects to Senior."
Perhaps sensing his anxiety, the old man reached out and helped him up, breaking into a smile. "There's no need to be nervous. I am but a projection."
