In a certain bamboo house.

A figure was lying on the bed in a lifeless manner, his face deathly pale, and breathing extremely weak. A significant portion of his chest was caved in, a clear sign that he had been gravely injured. It was the chief disciple of the Sacred Palace, Ning Mo.

“Two chief disciples sent to chase one Jin Zhang, and you managed to return in such a miserable fashion?” Laughter rang out beside the bed. Although it was certainly laughter, the chilling and sinister aura that emanated from it caused Wang Yuan’s face to tremble faintly for a moment.

He lifted his head and looked towards the left, where a thin young man was standing. The man’s skin was exceedingly pale, while a smile currently hung from the corners of his mouth. His most peculiar feature, however, were his slightly...