The pupils of ink painting are slightly shrunk.

"Is this the aura of the evil god?"

This small fishing village is hosted by an evil god with blood?

The pupils of the ink painting are deeper, the eyes are dark, and there are white divine patterns intertwined above the pitch black, looking around.

But the blood mist enveloped everything, covered the secrets of heaven, and devoured the cause and effect.

The blood-colored fishing village is gloomy and lonely, and it is hazy inside, and I don’t know what it is.

"Do you want to go deeper and see?"

Mo Hua seemed to be attracted. As soon as he took a step, he suddenly felt a thrust in his heart and suddenly woke up.

"wrong."

The eyes of the ink painting sank.

"Something is seducing me..."

Can't go!

If the blood mist is hazy, there must be a chance of evil, and I don’t know what is hidden inside.

Is there an evil god's "divine skeleton"? What level of divine skeleton is it?

Are there any monks who are parasitized by evil gods? Are there any believers and minions of evil gods, and how many are there? What kind of cultivation are they?

I don’t know any of these things, and I’m alone, and I must not act rashly.

What's more, I am just a young foundation-building monk, so I'm a little bit timid when I should be afraid, and it's not embarrassing.

Mo Hua restrained his curiosity and slowly retreated out of the small fishing village step by step.

Until I left the fishing village and stepped onto the soil outside the village, Mo Hua looked at it carefully and found that the blood mist in front of me had subsided.

Under the night, the small fishing village lights are lit, quiet and peaceful, without any abnormality.

Mo Hua's brows were frowning even tighter.

"What happened in this fishing village...?"

The night is still very dark, but Mo Hua dares not step into the bloody darkness.

The evil god should still be terrible.

The monks’ knowledge of spiritual practice is mixed, and the knowledge of spiritual practice is equally profound.

The knowledge of the gods that Huang Shanjun mentioned that day was understood by ink painting, but in fact he didn't fully understand it.

After all, I am a "person" rather than a natural "god". I know very little about the taboos of gods.

Just by just a few words heard from Huangshanjun, I thought I could despise the evil gods and kill all directions, which is a bit absurd.

So be cautious.

Don't fight unprepared battles.

Ink painting nodded.

This is the basic principle for monster hunters to hunt monsters, and it is also the first principle for them to hunt evil gods in the future.

The ink painting climbed onto the tree and took all the fishing village into his eyes. Then he suppressed the doubts in his heart and began to close his eyes and rest.

His spiritual consciousness also sank into the sea of ​​consciousness, and he practiced the formation on the Taoist monument as always.

The dragon crossed the river and entered the fishing village. The blood mist was hazy, covering his tracks.

But no matter what he did, he would definitely come out.

I just stayed at the entrance of the village and didn't have to worry about not being able to wait for him.

Ink painting waited patiently.

But until dawn, the fish in the east were white and the morning glow was just about to bloom. There was no sign of the river dragon in the small fishing village.

"It's strange..."

Ink painting muttered.

He looked at the small fishing village carefully again.

At this time, the sky was getting brighter, and the sunlight from the clouds had already shone through the moisture mist and shone into the fishing village.

The fishing village is dilapidated and shabby, but as the dawn breaks and a new day comes, the simple houses gradually appear in the air.

Some monks got up, fishing repair nets, and some children were playing and crying.

The smoke from cooking cooking also rose.

This is a poor but ordinary fishing village.

There was no strange aura shrouded in blood mist last night.

Mo Hua did not rashly enter the village, but still invisible. She squatted on the big tree and saw every bit of the life of the fishing practitioners in the small fishing village. After watching it for a long time, she couldn't help but sigh.

The life of a fishing practitioner is really hard.

Fisherman is also a casual cultivator, and no matter where he goes, his life is always the same.

Just work hard and live desperately.

Apart from being alive, I have no intention of thinking about other things.

Making a living is still unavailable, let alone immortality.

The heart is a little sad in the ink painting.

In this small fishing village, except for ordinary fishing practitioners, there are no other monks, including the "crossing river dragon" who changed his body and pretended to be a rough man.

"Where did Bridge River Dragon go?"

Ink painting is confused.

After waiting for another half a day, I still didn't find any trace, but it was already noon and smoke from cooking fires floated in the fishing village.

Most of the low-level scattered cultivators are physical cultivation. They have been practicing their bodies since childhood and have grown up to do physical work. Generally speaking, they have to eat a little full at noon to have the energy to make a living.

So lunch is more formal than in the morning.

Although I didn’t eat well, the fragrance wafted up every household and smelled very attractive.

Mo Hua touched her stomach and was a little hungry.

His eyes lit up and suddenly he found an acquaintance. It was the older fisherman who helped him draw the formation that day and wanted to invite him home to visit.

The fisherman was making fish soup at home, and the family was surrounded by seven or eight people.

The world is big, and the food is the biggest.

You can ask some things yourself.

The ink painting jumped down from the tree, and while there was no one around, he showed his figure and walked openly towards the small fishing village.

Bridge River Dragon has never seen him.

When he was dragged into the woods that day, he did not show up. Later, he intercepted him halfway. Although he showed up, he had his face covered.

So Guojianglong didn't know himself.

I was generous and came to the small fishing village to eat and drink. Even if I saw it, I would not be suspicious that I, a young monk, was following him.

Mo Hua looked calm and walked into the small fishing village lightly.

He did not wear the Taoist robe of Taixu Gate, but only dressed in simple regular clothes, fair and handsome, with friendly eyes and eyes. He entered the fishing village with a swagger, as if he had returned to his own home.

When the fishing practitioners along the road saw him, they were open and did not doubt anything.

It was just because he was handsome and cute, so I couldn't help but look at him a few more times.

Ink paintings were like this, and they "mixed" into the village in a grand manner. When they walked to the vicinity of the old Changyu Xiu's home, they slowed down.

That old fisherman was cooking fish soup. After a while, he looked up and saw the ink painting that "just happened to be" passing by. He was stunned at first, then he was happy, and he hurriedly greeted:

"Little brother!"

Ink painting pretended not to hear it.

The fishing cultivator shouted again: "Little brother, it's me!"

Mo Hua turned around and said with a look of surprise: "Uncle?"

The fishing practitioner smiled and greeted, "Come on, the freshly cooked fish soup is fresh, come and try it."

Mo Hua said shyly: "That's so sorry."

Yu Xiu had a stern face, "What a shame, little brother, you helped us. Isn't it okay to invite you to eat a fish?"

After saying that, he immediately told his family:

"This little brother, a disciple of the sect, is still an amazing formation master. He helped to practice the formations on the fishing net at home that day..."

As soon as this statement was spoken, he and his whole family looked at Mo Hua with admiration.
To be continued...