Several burly men sat warming themselves by the fire, their eyes fixed on Xiao Mo and his companions.
But Xiao Mo remained with his eyes closed in meditation, the Spirit-Collecting Blade resting on his lap. He seemed to be asleep, completely ignoring their stares.
Wangxin, meanwhile, kept tugging at the corner of Xiao Mo's robe. It wasn't that she seemed afraid of the bandit-like men, but rather that she was worried Xiao Mo would get into a bad mood and slice them to bits with a single stroke.
The scar-faced man glanced at the Han Family's wife and daughter, unable to stop himself from licking the corner of his mouth, his eyes burning with a fiery gaze.
But he would also glance at Xiao Mo from time to time, a flicker of apprehension in his eyes.
After all, Xiao Mo had a saber resting on his thigh, and the scar-faced man had no idea how strong he was. If he happened to be from some Martial Arts Sect and had a penchant for righting wrongs, it would be a huge problem.
