Next morning.
Soft rays of sunlight filtered through scattered clouds, bathing the city in a gentle golden glow.
Inside the dojo, Wang Chen sat by the window, a porcelain teacup resting lightly in his hand.
He took a slow sip.
His gaze drifted outward, eventually settling on the Bodhi tree standing quietly in the courtyard.
Mo Huyan's words echoed faintly in his mind.
Ancient spirit…
What exactly was that supposed to be?
Wang Chen's lips curled slightly upward.
The existence of a spirit within the tree did not surprise him. In a place like this, even a random rock gaining consciousness wouldn't be particularly shocking.
What did surprise him…
Was that the spirit was still there.
And yet—
It had stopped insulting him.
That alone was suspicious.
What changed?
Wang Chen narrowed his eyes slightly, lost in thought.
But no matter how he turned the problem over in his mind, he couldn't arrive at any reasonable conclusion.
Eventually, he gave up.
