The three bandits sat upright on the narrow mountain path, each in a bizarre posture, their buttocks suspended in midair with nothing beneath them. Their gazes were fixed somewhere to the east, their faces flushed red. Some had their tongues hanging out, others drooled, and from time to time they thrust their waists forward...
Liu Xiaolou sat cross-legged barely ten feet away, his eyes closed, his fingers forming a hand seal. He focused wholly on maintaining the formation. Fine beads of sweat continuously seeped from his forehead and the tip of his nose as he poured out his true essence with all his strength. Though the three bandits were so close, he could no longer spare even a thread of strength to strike at them.
In a flash of thought, Liu Xiaolou recalled the swords that had repeatedly stabbed out from the cliff walls when he had fallen into the formation that day. Only now did he understand that Western Mountain Hermit, who had controlled the formation then, had been far more advanced in cultivation than he was.
How many more levels would he need to rise before he could launch killing moves into a formation like Western Mountain Hermit?
He did not know how long the stalemate had lasted when another person appeared on the mountain path. Seeing the scene before him, he could not help staring in astonishment. "Xiaolou?"
Liu Xiaolou was slightly distracted and opened his eyes to look. The newcomer was Dai Shenggao. He let out a breath, and his tightly wound mind instantly relaxed. His true essence could no longer be sustained, and the formation disk gave a mournful whine before flying back into his palm.
The illusion formation dispersed, and everything before the three bandits vanished. They all came to their senses and jumped