"In the year 1643!"
Mr. Lu stretched out his hand, took back the pen, and said, "According to the Holy Land, it is now the year 1661, 18 years ago!"
The crowd had complex expressions, looking at Mr. Lu with eyes filled with astonishment.
"Back then, I and Lu Changsheng devised a plan, which eventually led Lu Changsheng to inherit the legacy of the Holy Land."
"Lu Changsheng was smarter than me; he already suspected that there was a problem with the Holy Land at that time."
Mr. Lu sighed, placing the pen back into the box: "Now it seems, the source of the problem was the Yin Thunder that pierced through the Holy Land, along with the ancient god arrow that struck the Saint Master!"
"This pen..." Lin Yan furrowed his brows.
"In fact, the poem that Lu Changsheng had sent was not just 'With a single day you rise with the winds, soaring directly to ninety thousand leagues'."