His back felt vaguely cold; if Ninghai Zen dropped the ball at a critical moment, he would be like someone making a nest to feed the big fish.
The noisy cries from the night wind drifted into everyone's ears.
"Madman! Where did this madman come from!"
"Killing at sight without asking for names!"
"We're all living off Hidden Pavilion, why make things difficult for our own people!"
"Jing Wuming, never heard of him..."
Bai Qi's eyes twitched; how did his master use the name he intended for himself?
Indeed, this is roaming the Jianghu, with countless aliases.
Should he call himself "Jing Wubing" or "Jing Wuli"?
Or perhaps "Gongsun Wulong"?
As the name Jing Wuming resonated, it was as if a giant scythe swept through, taking away figures in the forest.
Both banks of the river quickly returned to tranquility, silent as a grave.
Only the piercing pain lingering in Bai Qi's heart hadn't dissipated; he lowered his eyelids:
"Has the big fish not taken the bait yet?"
...
...
