If Leon Luo were in the Spirit Snake Temple, he would get to know his master again.
He was completely different from the master who laid a solid foundation for him on the island and told him to strengthen his body first when practicing Taoism. He was also completely different from Marcus Luo who could cause thunder and wind as condensed as a knife with a casual slash of his fingers in the Beixue Garden. When Zhen Shuangliu started fighting seriously, the movements of his body wrapped in a deep robe with wide sleeves embroidered with intricate silver patterns were unpredictable, and his style was as straight as an antelope hanging its horns, leaving no trace.
Before they could fight, his colorful poisonous mist drifted far away until it filled the entire empty hall. The pillars in the hall were carved from black crystal, and had never been able to withstand swords and spears, and were strong enough to bear a thousand pounds of force. Now, they were only slightly touched by half a smear of colorful mist, and a puff of white smoke came out with a hissing sound, melting like a pillar of glue meeting fire, and gathering like candle tears.
The colorful mist became thicker and thicker, making it impossible to see each other's eyes and eyebrows even if their noses touched. The nine snakes behind Zhen Shuangliu had long since disappeared in this strange and dangerous barrier. Only the sound of snakes spitting out their tongues could be heard faintly from every corner, carrying a murderous intent that should not be ignored.
The Taotie leader Hua Yanwang felt a tightness on his back, as if he was being stared at by millions of eyes at the same time. His spiritual sense suddenly sounded an alarm. He turned sideways and raised his hand to parry, but his white palm collided with a pitch-black short blade that broke through the air.
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