The mist of Lingquan was steaming, and Teng Xuan and I sat cross-legged opposite each other.
There was sweat on his forehead, and the golden elixir stage spiritual power was flowing around his body. I casually threw him a low-grade spiritual stone. "Save it," I said.
Teng Xuan caught the spirit stone and grinned, his bronze skin glowing in the sun.
The sound of footsteps came from the mountain road.
The hairs on the back of my neck suddenly stood up - the pressure of the tribulation period was like the tip of a knife against my throat.
Turning around, he met Su Yun's sinister gaze. The hem of his black robe was still stained with the blood of the monster.
"Fellow Daoist Cheng is so laid-back." Su Yun kicked away the gravel at his feet, and the stone fragments splashed on Teng Xuan's clothes. "You dare to occupy the spiritual spring with a bottle of oil at the golden elixir stage?"
