Suddenly, a violent outburst left the villagers' faces pale with terror.
No one could have imagined that the kindly, benevolent old Abbot would be cleaved in half in such a manner.
After the initial shock came seething anger as rage contorted their faces. The villagers all fixed their deadly glares on Chen Yi, their eyes brimming with hatred, as though they wished to hack him into pieces, divide the flesh, and use it to fill their famished stomachs.
Chen Yi slowly pulled his blade free from the mangled mass of flesh, flicking the blood away with precision.
He calmly stepped over the still-upright corpse.
The old Abbot, wearing his monk's hat and robes, remained standing motionless in place.
As Chen Yi passed by him, he suddenly heard a voice.
"Benefactor."
Chen Yi's gaze sharpened subtly.
Turning his head, he saw the Abbot's lips still moving. From the fatal crack that split him from the crown of his skull to the corner of his mouth, the wound seemed almost trivial.
