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Xiao He's face buckled in astonishment, his eyes momentarily contemplating a desperate escape from their sockets. He was, after all, a man of the Forbidden Tower, a harbinger of execution orders. Who in their right mind would dare lay a hand on him?
But the cry that came left no room for such wondering. "I won't shoot the messenger. So, you can keep your life and scram!" The voice, robust and imperious, wove a tempest that struck Xiao He’s form, repelling him with unforgiving force.
BAM! He tumbled, a second spray of blood painting the air, his form spiraling beyond the grand entrance of Sword Heaven, just as gracefully as a discarded doll.
A cascade of eyes, as if bound by an invisible tether, all landed on one—a man in gray robes.
Yun Xiao blinked at the spectacle, threads of bewilderment embroidering his expression. His gaze affixed itself upon a figure—a robust back adorned with chaotic white hair, a man of bare feet and simple garments, cradling a jug of wine as voluminous as a pot.
GULP GULP! The man drank, viscous liquid spilling down his chin, anointing him in an impromptu baptism. He turned around, the wine navigating paths into his mouth and down his neck with equal measure.
That face—a middle-aged man of grey-white beard, eyes misted yet harboring an indomitable aura swirling within—presented a perplexing picture.
“The...
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