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The light of dusk was the color of peach blossoms, and it blazed like fire.
A sickly man dressed like a scholar rode toward the Luo River on the back of a white mule.
He carried a bundled sword on his back, and he wore plain cloth robes and a scholarly fangjin head covering. He looked down on his luck and dejected.
He carried a jug of wine, and with each sip he took, he let out a deep sigh and mumbled something incomprehensible.
Why is it him? When Tang Lingqi saw the man and his mule, a chill coursed down his spine. His palms were drenched in sweat, and his body stiffened.
“Grand Uncle, are you okay?” Tang Bao’er noticed that something was awry.
“That’s right. Why are you scared?” The man on the white mule suddenly looked over and sighed. “How could a member of the Tang Family be so gutless?”
He shook his head in apparent disappointment.
Tang Lingqi took a deep breath, not daring to meet the man’s gaze, and said gravely, “In the face of an unrivaled figure such as yourself, it’s only natural that this old man would feel as terrified as if I were walking on thin ice.”
The man snickered. “Relax. I might be...
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