Qi Yun Mountain, Yuan Ling Crown.
Zhang Fan stared wide-eyed at the man who walked in, a peculiar tune echoing unconsciously in his mind.
"My name is Yuan Ling Crown. Got a problem? You call Brother Yuan, and it'll get sorted in no time. Our friendship—worth more than gold."
Wasn't this guy the same Jianghu bigshot from the bathhouse the other day, the one selling information?
And he even took off someone's arm right in front of them that day.
"This humble Daoist, Yuan Ling Crown."
The man strode in; this time, unlike the last bare-chested encounter, he wore a Daoist robe, bowed with clasped hands, looking rather dignified, almost like someone from a reputable sect.
"Is that the one?" Fang Changle leaned close to Zhang Fan's ear and whispered.
"No one else talks like that—it's gotta be him." Zhang Fan whispered back, but inside, his heart was pounding.
He hadn't expected such a wayward fellow to be someone of this status—a master from Qi Yun Mountain.
