O amigo de infância mestre taoísta da celebridade polêmica voltou

Thunder roared fiercely, one peal following another, bolts of lightning tearing across the sky as if determined to rend apart the thick darkness and illuminate the world with light. Yet the black clouds, like spilled ink, swiftly reclaimed every patch that the lightning dared brighten, staining them even darker than before.

Someone captured this violent spectacle above the heavens and uploaded it online: “Which fellow cultivator is undergoing their tribulation?” The post was soon flooded with countless so-called “fellow cultivators” liking and joking, laughing away merrily.

Little did they know, many of the truly powerful exorcists watching the lightning in the sky were so terrified, their souls nearly fled their bodies. Even the president and elders of the Exorcist Association in the distant capital were alarmed, gazing in horror at the thunder over River City that looked even more terrifying than the legendary Nine-Nine Heavenly Tribulation. They each took out their most trusted methods—divining, calculating, and consulting their arts—but their brows only furrowed deeper, their faces growing ever grimmer.

An old Taoist with snow-white hair coughed up a mouthful of blood onto his compass, his voice hoarse with terror: “Heaven’s Punishment descends—surely a Ghost King has arisen! Great calamity is upon the human world!”

A wrinkled medium’s crystal ball shattered to pieces in her trembling hands. She nearly collapsed, barely kept upright by her quick-witted disciples. Her face was etched with terror: “I saw it—a sea of blood, an overwhelming hatred