The green-robed youth did not answer Shen Siyuan's question; he merely tapped the drumstick lightly on his palm and then struck the two sticks together, producing a crisp "clang" like the sound of metal clashing. The clear sound pierced through the cold Yin of the Netherworld.
As the sound fell, the surrounding air rippled visibly to the naked eye, expanding layer by layer, even distorting the red glow of the blood moon slightly.
Shen Siyuan's expression immediately became grave.
He couldn't discern anything extraordinary about the drumstick itself, yet he could feel a formidable power emanating from that crisp sound.
Was it the drumstick itself that was special, or was the green-robed youth's power simply unfathomable?
He dared not be careless, his thoughts racing, unsure how to respond, given he knew nothing about this so-called "Venerable."
"May I know how to address you?"
