Soon, Lin Changheng's senses tingled. A powerful aura descended from the sky, and a figure landed directly in the venue.
He sat down cross-legged.
'A Fake Core Cultivator!'
Lin Changheng instantly made his assessment, a chill running down his spine.
The Spiritual Pressure was intentionally restrained, but its unique might was unmistakable. It far surpassed Foundation Establishment Perfection, yet hadn't fully condensed into a True Core.
The newcomer was an old man with a withered face, dressed in a black Daoist robe, his exact age impossible to tell.
His hair was casually tied in a bun with an Ebony Hairpin. His eyes were half-closed and his face was expressionless. He landed directly on a cattail cushion in the innermost circle of the venue—the best position available—and seemed oblivious to the many gazes directed his way, as if he had simply come to meditate.
