My words have become law; I truly have no desire to display my divine power before others.

The night is deep.

The Maoshan Sect's Shouling Hall was completely silent.

An ever-burning lamp was lit in the hall, its dim light illuminating rows of memorial tablets.

The memorial tablets were arranged neatly from top to bottom, with the tablets of the seven patriarchs at the very top.

Below them are the successive sect leaders and elders, and below that are the true disciples who have made great contributions to the sect.

The lamplight reflected on the memorial tablets, casting a dim, yellowish glow.

The disciple guarding the temple was surnamed Zhou. He had been a disciple of the sect for three years and was still an outer disciple.

It was his turn to keep watch tonight. He sat upright on the prayer mat, staring at the memorial tablets for half an hour, until his eyelids started to droop.

He pinched himself.

pain.

He persevered for another fifteen minutes, but his eyelids started to droop again.

He pinched himself again.

It hurts again.

After another 15 minutes, my eyelids started to droop again.

He didn't pinch her this time.

Anyway, no one's coming to check... I'll just take a short nap...

He leaned against the pillar, his head bobbing up and down, and soon fell asleep.

......

"Click."

Zhou's disciple suddenly woke up.

He opened his eyes and looked around blankly.

The mourning hall remained silent, the memorial tablets were still neatly arranged, and the eternal lamps still burned dimly.

Nothing unusual.

He breathed a sigh of relief, rubbed his eyes, and was about to lean against the pillar again—

"Click."

Another sound.

This sound was louder and clearer than before.

Zhou's disciple stood up abruptly, his hair standing on end.

He looked around, trying to find the source of the sound.

Then he saw it.

The rightmost memorial tablet in the top row—

The ancestral tablet of the founding master.

There is a faint crack on it.

Zhou's disciple opened his mouth wide, but couldn't utter a sound for a long time.

He rubbed his eyes and looked again.

The cracks are still there.

It's not an illusion.

"Grandmaster...Grandmaster..."

He murmured to himself, his legs buckled, and he knelt on the ground.

......

Maoshan Sect, back mountain.

The sect leader is meditating in the quiet room.

He had been sitting for two hours, but he still couldn't calm his mind.

Zhao Shouzhou has been down the mountain for some time now; I wonder how he's doing out there.

That child is truly gifted; such talent is a once-in-a-century occurrence.

But that personality of hers is really a headache.

They love to show off, flaunt their achievements, and be in the limelight.

It's alright to be suppressed within the sect, but once you leave the sect, who knows what trouble you might cause?

The sect leader sighed.

But there's nothing we can do about it.

Jade that is not carved cannot become a useful object.

That child needs experience and setbacks to shed his impetuousness.

This was the intention of the founder, and also his own idea.

I just hope that kid doesn't hurt himself too much...

Just then, a series of hurried footsteps came from outside.

Then came a series of loud knocks on the door.

"Sect Master! Sect Master! Something terrible has happened!"

It was the voice of a disciple guarding the temple, his voice trembling with panic.

The sect leader frowned, got up, and opened the door.

Outside the door, Zhou's disciple knelt on the ground, his face deathly pale, his whole body trembling, and he could barely speak:

"Sect...Sect Master...the memorial tablet in the Spirit Guardian Hall...is cracked..."

The sect leader's heart skipped a beat.

He grabbed Zhou's disciple, and they flew through the clouds to the Guardian Hall.

......

The lights in the hall were still burning dimly.

The sect leader stood in front of the row of memorial tablets, looking at the one on the far right.

On the memorial tablet, a crack extends diagonally from the upper right corner all the way to the center of the tablet.

The crack wasn't very deep, but it was clearly visible and shocking.

The sect leader's hand trembled slightly.

He took a deep breath and said in a low voice:

"Where is Zhao Shouzhou's memorial tablet?"

Zhou's disciple was taken aback for a moment, then quickly pointed to the row below:

"There... there."

The sect leader walked over and looked down.

Zhao Shouzhou's memorial tablet was perfectly fine, standing there upright without any abnormalities.

The sect leader was stunned.

Not Zhao Shouzhou?

That is……

He turned to look at the seven ancestral tablets.

The crack is on the rightmost piece.

That was the Seventh Patriarch—the seventh patriarch of the Maoshan School, and also the last patriarch to ascend to immortality since the founding of the Maoshan School.

His memorial tablet has been enshrined in the mourning hall for eight hundred years without ever having any problems.

But now, it's cracked.

The sect leader's expression changed.

He turned around and looked at Zhou's disciple:

"Are you sure there's nothing unusual tonight?"

Zhou's disciple nodded repeatedly:

"No...no! I was keeping watch the whole time, and...I just dozed off for a little while...and then I heard a click, and that's when I saw it..."

The sect leader did not blame him.

Taking a nap is no big deal. What's a big deal is something that can crack the ancestral tablet.

He walked to the memorial tablet and knelt down.

Behind him, Zhou's disciple also quickly knelt down.

The sect leader formed hand seals, closed his eyes and concentrated, sending out a wisp of divine sense to slowly touch the memorial tablet.

"Disciple Maoshan Sect's 35th Sect Master respectfully invites the Seventh Patriarch..."

The moment his divine sense touched the memorial tablet, an extremely weak fluctuation emanated from it.

The fluctuation was very faint, almost imperceptible, but the sect leader still managed to detect it.

That was the divine thought of the Seventh Patriarch.

The sect leader was overjoyed and immediately continued to activate his divine sense:

"Grandmaster! What happened to you? Who hurt you?"

The memorial tablet did not respond.

The fluctuations shifted within the memorial tablet, as if searching for something.

After a long while, it finally found a way out.

Before the sect leader, the incense ash in the incense burner suddenly stirred.

The incense ash floated up on its own, condensing and deforming in the air, slowly forming several characters stroke by stroke.

It was slow and difficult; each stroke required a long pause, as if the writer had exhausted all his strength.

The sect leader knelt there, motionless, watching the words take shape.

The first character: "近" (jìn)

The second character: "期"

The third word: "No"

"want"

"let"

"younger brother"

"son"

"please"

"I"

"superior"

"body"

The characters formed from incense ash lingered in the air for a moment before scattering and falling back into the incense burner.

The hall was deathly silent.

The sect leader knelt there, staring at the empty incense burner, and remained silent for a long time.

He got it.

The Seventh Patriarch was injured.

And he was seriously injured.

So heavy that he couldn't even say another word, he had to use this method to pass on the message.

He recalled the crack from earlier, the extremely weak fluctuation, and the few crooked, labored words he had written—

"Do not let your disciples ask me to possess them recently."

What is it?

What could possibly injure the ancestor who ascended to immortality eight hundred years ago so badly?

The sect leader knelt there, his face solemn.

After a long while, he stood up, walked to the entrance of the palace, and looked at the dark night sky outside.

That direction... is the direction of Jingyang Prefecture.

That kid Zhao Shouzhou is in that direction.

The sect leader remained silent for a long time.

Then he spoke, his voice low and deep:

"Pass down the order: all disciples are forbidden from using any incantation techniques in the near future. Anyone who disobeys this order will be expelled from the sect."

Zhou's disciple knelt behind him, nodding repeatedly.

The sect leader gazed at the night sky and murmured:

"Shouzhuo... what on earth did you get into outside...?"

Only this kid from the Maoshan Sect went out; apart from him, there was no one else who could provoke an enemy.

A night breeze blew by, and the eternal lamps in the mourning hall flickered a few times.

The memorial tablets stood silently, motionless.

Only the rightmost piece, with its crack, gleamed faintly under the light.