Xihong. The Ten Thousand Forms Pavilion.

The broad guest-receiving terrace was paved in plain brick and stone and looked very unassuming. But among the many statues standing about it there was a faint breath of the ancient, giving a man a touch of the weathering of ages.

Any cultivator who knew anything of this sect, though, knew perfectly well what lay under it.

The more newly risen a sect, the more it wanted to pull an old skin over itself.

That air of weathering about the Ten Thousand Forms Pavilion was altogether too deliberate, and fell into the second rank for that very reason.

Not that they had come by their place honestly to begin with.

They had come by it through a trick. While the snipe and the clam had each other by the throat, and before anybody else could react, they had used their gift for news to pick up this Dao-merging treasured site free of charge, without spending one soldier or one man.

From a third-rate power they had leapt at a stride into a true immortal sect.

And it was that very business which had let the Ten Thousand Forms Pavilion's cultivators taste the sweetness of it.

For those who stood at the bottom, to climb in these chaotic waters and lands of Xihong a man had to dare to gamble; he had to have the nerve to seize a chance and stake everything on it!

What was the point of crouching at the tail end of the immortal sects?

If they could take a head sect's ground, then they could take a second treasured site for a branch sect.

The Boundless Dao-Sovereign Sect had put its hand into Xihong; the Nanhong Seven had come for a share too, and had even disguised themselves and cut Pan Boyang down, which counted as lighting the first fire.

The Ten Thousand Forms Pavilion had seen the storm coming ahead of everyone.

This was a fine situation, and absolutely not to be missed!

Attaching themselves to the West Dragon Palace was only the first step of the plan; so…