Although the right humerus was completely broken, the left wrist and palm also fractured, and a few ribs were nearly piercing into the heart, narrowly escaping fatal injury.
However, Ji Changlie still claimed he could fight, he could flee.
He seized a white horse, rapidly urged his True Qi, aiming to retrace his steps and escape into the One-Slash Gorge, into his infantry formation, or even to the Seaside Camp.
The ambition was high, the spirit was grand during the march.
Now, all was gone.
Only frantically shouting for his knights to cover the retreat.
He hurried like a stray dog.
He had run halfway when the scattered Eight Gates Golden Lock Array again maneuvered to block the way.
Ji Changlie's face was full of defeat as he looked up and saw an elegant old man with white hair and beard already standing ten feet in front of him.
Beside him stood a middle-aged man in his thirties or forties, looking at Ji Changlie with pity.
