Bai Ying became angrier the more he spoke, and by the end, his fury was burning bright as he punched the coffee table, cracking its fine surface into a full web of fissures.
Blood began to slowly seep out from under his fist.
Bai Zhen sighed, reaching out to gently stroke the square tripod. The evil ghosts within seemed to get a punch from nowhere and simultaneously coughed up a breath of spiritual energy.
Dozens of strands of spiritual energy gathered, forming a rather bright golden orb. Bai Zhen caught the orb and smeared it over Bai Ying's fist.
In an instant, the gash on his fist healed, and even the blood seemed to move backward, retreating into the wound.
"Young master, there will always be a solution," Bai Zhen comforted him.
