The humid mountain wind carried the sweet smell of blood. Yun Yi leaned against the mottled ancient pine, his eyebrows slightly raised, and his signature evil smile hanging on the corner of his mouth. He raised his hand to wipe away the blood stains on his cheek, and rubbed the hot bronze fragments in his arms with his fingertips - they were the broken pictures stolen from Xuanyangzi's secret room. It was said that when put together completely, they could reveal the whereabouts of the ancient secret treasure.
"Xiao Yizi, those flies are still following you!" Lei Hu's rough voice came from the treetops. This iron tower-like man was tying several jars of liquor with hemp ropes, and the mountain ax at his waist was still dripping with wet blood. There were seven or eight righteous disciples lying at his feet. They were all knocked unconscious by his axe, and they were snoring one after another.
Yun Yi shook the bronze fragment in his hand and deliberately raised his voice: "I'm afraid that old man Xuanyangzi is so angry that the treasure he has carefully hidden for ten years has become my possession in the blink of an eye." Before he finished speaking, a sharp whistle came from the mountain col in the distance, and more than thirty sword lights cut through the dusk. In the center of the sword formation was the gloomy face of Xuanyangzi.
