Chen Yi raised his eyes, as if he suddenly realized something, and turned around saying, "Let's go."
The Old Saintess breathed a sigh of relief, by means of persuasion, finally calming down this identity-uncertain person.
In the next moment, however, a sentence dropped from his mouth,
"Let's go, to kill Wang Jian."
...........
The bronze wheels rolled, crushing the skeletal remains they passed over, like grinding the wild grass on the roadside. The soldiers on the carriage paid little attention.
Under the ancient face armor, a faint old sound could be heard: "Tai Sha..."
As the two words fell, they shook the bronze chariot, as Zhao Shourui, seated on the tiger-headed throne, looked increasingly grim.
With time passing, this resurrected Ghost Lord Wang Jian seemed to be regaining past intelligence, increasingly resisting his control.
