Qin Ming nodded. Right now, he was covered in cracks, drenched in blood, and some of his wounds were so deep that they looked like he had been torn into pieces before being hastily stitched back together.
As for the golden silk parasol, it had repeatedly self-destructed and finally fallen to the ground, in the eyes of outsiders, clearly having suffered severe damage and impairment to its spiritual attributes.
Qin Ming breathed a sigh of relief. He had seen those who had pursued him in secret; they seemed to be from the Heavenly Clan, Abyss Civilization, Totem Camp, but had nothing to do with the Parasitic Civilization.
As long as he did not provoke the colossal entity underground to resurgence, everything would be manageable.
"One, two..."
Qin Ming was tracking the number of Grandmasters behind him, preparing to strike once he returned to Flying Land.
Did these people really think he was gravely injured and dying, weak and easy to bully?
