Forced

Under the night sky, the entire Sikhara Temple seemed to tremble.

If Long Yuehong didn't know what was happening and if not for the lack of trembling in the square, he would be convinced that an earthquake had happened. He turned his head to look at the young monk—Danro—and asked, "Is it like this every time?"

Under the dim street lamps, Long Yuehong saw Danro standing in his spot dazedly as he stared at the seven-story Sikhara Temple as if he hadn't heard him.

"Hey!" he called again.

"Why did you call me?" Shang Jianyao cast his gaze over.

Danro slowly turned around and faced Long Yuehong.

Shadows were fleeting across his face. His eyes were dull, and his expression was wooden. He looked identical to the gray-robed monks that had come down from the seventh floor.

Long Yuehong's heart sank. He released his grip on Garibaldi and subconsciously took two steps back before drawing his pistol.