In an instant, only a man and a boar remained on the Cyan Qilin Platform, locked in a standoff.
A biting wind swept across the high platform, tugging at the corner of Yang Jing's white robes.
At the same time, hundreds of gazes from below the platform fell upon Yang Jing in unison.
The old acquaintances who recognized him watched with mixed expressions.
But the vast majority had never heard the name Yang Jing before, their eyes filled with curiosity and scrutiny.
...
The biting wind whipped across the high platform, causing the hem of Yang Jing's white robes to flutter loudly.
Across from him, the monstrous iron-tusked boar scraped its front hooves hard against the stone slabs, creating a piercing sound. Then, shrouded in a foul stench, it charged at Yang Jing like a runaway war chariot.
Its jutting tusks glinted with a cold light; from its momentum, it looked as if it intended to run Yang Jing straight through.
