Just then, a middle-aged man in linen suddenly emerged from the crowd. This man was unremarkable in appearance, but his strikes were incredibly sharp. Just as Zhu Hong seemed on the verge of death at Wei Tao's hands, this man intervened and saved him.
BANG!
After they exchanged a palm strike, Wei Tao was sent flying, spurting a mouthful of blood in mid-air.
"What?"
Everyone on the boat was astonished, staring in shock at the linen-clad middle-aged man. His strength was incredible; after all, even Zhu Hong had been utterly defeated by Wei Tao. Yet Wei Tao couldn't withstand a single palm strike from this man?
"Who are you?"
Wei Tao climbed up from the ground, his face filled with terror as he looked at the linen-clad middle-aged man. This man's True Qi was incomparably potent, probably several times greater than his own. He realized he was no match for him at all.
"Scram, if you value your pathetic life," the linen-clad middle-aged man's somewhat hoarse voice rang out.
