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Li Yanchu and Ding Rou eventually managed to board the ferry. The ferryman stood expressionless as he gently pushed the boat away from the shore.
“Wait!” A lean, gloomy-looking Daoist came flying over, a yellow talisman stuck to his body. It was a Wind-Riding Talisman!
His voice sounded like a broken windmill, and it sounded raspy and low. But by now, the ferryman had already left the shore completely, showing no sign of stopping.
A flash of cold light appeared in the Daoist’s eyes, and with a powerful leap, he landed steadily at the front of the boat.
“I am Qingmuzi from Mount Zhongnan. Are you deaf, ferryman?” the man said coldly.
His aura was brimming with sinister qi, and he was clearly a demonic Daoist who cultivated with spirits, yet he had the nerve to claim he was from the revered Mount Zhongnan Sect.
Li Yanchu shot him a...
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