The ancestral worship ceremony Wei Xianxing spoke of was appallingly simple.
It was a temple on a sunny mountainside with red bricks and a glazed tile roof, its only decorations being the animal figurines on the eaves.
Inside hung an old, yellowed portrait that had clearly seen many years.
Bai Mo focused his gaze and saw the portrait of a hale and hearty old man, gazing into the distance with his hands behind his back.
The patriarch in the painting was thin, like an ancient pine tree standing serenely in the harsh north wind.
It was a style completely different from the current disciples, who were full of vigorous vitality and boiling passion.
It was unknown who had left the portrait, but the artistry was superb, sealing all of the subject's spiritual charm within it.
As Bai Mo kowtowed, a few of the senior brothers standing by cheered.
"Great! We have another junior brother!"
"Cheers for Broken Blade Peak! But Junior Brother, you'll have to work on that physique of yours…"
