"Junior Brother Zhang, you must not fall into the Yi family's trap. They're clearly trying to force you down the mountain." Zhao Zhijing's face was ashen.
He looked at Zhang Zhijing, fearing that his naturally gifted Taoist Junior Brother might draw his sword and descend the mountain in a fit of rage.
Zhang Zhijing sat on the throne made of exotic iron in Bright Moon Hall. There were six iron thrones in total, with the Hall Master at the head, followed by the five major First Seats.
Now, except for Chu Zhihe, the other four were all present.
Zhao Zhijing and Han Zhishen both looked worried. Chu Zhihe's status was too sensitive, affecting not only their candidate for the next Sect Leader but also involving the two First Seat Elders.
But at this moment, in this hall, no one dared mention Chu Zhihe to Qi Zhiyuan, who sat in silence, his hair turned white, and wrinkles etched onto his face overnight.
After all, his position was neither proper nor justified.
