"Who's there?"
Tu Shanhe's expression changed abruptly as he looked toward the source of the voice.
High in the sky.
Two figures were walking through the air.
One of them was an old man in a gray Daoist robe. His hair and beard were both grayish-white, and his eyes seemed to be a patch of chaos—muddy, yet also incomparably profound.
It was none other than Jiang Chen's master, Qii Daotian!
As for the man beside Qii Daotian, he was a short, stout old man. Though his hair was white, his face was ruddy and full of vigor.
Tu Shanhe's face became incredibly ugly. His gloomy gaze fell upon Qii Daotian and the other man, revealing a deep sense of dread. "Qii Daotian, and the Intestine Sword Saint, Lui Chuanchang?"
"That's right, it is I!"
The short, stout old man's voice was like muffled thunder, rolling and deafening as it echoed in their ears.
