Seeing the usually peaceful monks act like this was stunning to everyone, especially to the followers of Mui Ran.
"They've harmed the Young Master!" one of them shouted, face red with panic and fury.
Swords were drawn. Talismans flared to life. They acted without thought, as if the laws of the temple and the presence of elders meant nothing.
"Enough."
But the Abbot was having none of it.
HUALA!
The sky above the Green Lotus Temple rippled like water disturbed by a pebble. From the abbot's crown, an invisible surge of force burst outward. The wind ceased. The ground quieted. Even the air seemed to freeze.
The aura above him took form—its shape no longer vague, but divine. It was the image of a wrathful young man, seated in lotus posture, surrounded by a ring of golden fire. His expression was serene, but his eyes blazed with judgment. He held a sword in one hand and a vajra in the other.
