The cold pool in the back mountain of Qingyun Sect is filled with blue mist all year round. Lin Yi clenched the chipped iron ax in his hand, digging his nails into his palm. He looked at the face covered with sawdust in the reflection in the pool - there was a dark red whip mark on the seventeen-year-old boy's chin that should have been smooth.
"A handyman disciple should look like a handyman." When I woke up in the morning, Manager Zhao's sneer was still in my ears, and the python skin whip soaked in salt water was still in my ears.
