Desolate long night, bright moon and sparse stars.
The drifting words echoed on the cold and clear old street, seemingly like a life-taking talisman, stunning the Primordial Spirit, chilling people to the bone.
Remnants of the South Zhang, Zhang Family renegade.
Such an identity seems out of place with this bustling red dust and murky mortal world.
"Beizhang!?"
Zhang Fan's expression changed abruptly, his hand playing with the Black Iron Plate clenched tightly, he stared intently at the old street administrator in front of him, a strong sense of vigilance and unease rose in his heart.
No need for excessive words, his first reaction was that this person must be from the Northern Zhang Lineage.
It's like natural arch enemies, sensing each other.
"As expected of the Great Spirit Sect King's child, quick-witted." The administrator wearing a hat was expressionless, his eyelids lifted slightly.
"Beizhang, Zhang Evil!"
