Outside Hangzhou, two elderly Daoists in azure robes strode forward.
One was gaunt and bony, with a jet-black hairpin stuck in his somewhat gray-white hair.
The other was small and thin, his hands constantly tucked into his sleeves, his face perpetually gloomy, as though he were angry at every moment.
Had there been any martial artists present, they would certainly have recognized them.
Both were experts of the Qingcheng Sect.
The one with the black hairpin was known as Duanhongzi, the master of Xuandu Temple on Mount Qingcheng.
The one with his hands tucked in his sleeves was known as Nu Zhenren, the master of Tianmiao Temple on Mount Qingcheng.
Once upon a time, both men had been celebrated figures in the martial world, their reputations resounding far and wide.
In recent years, they had remained on Mount Qingcheng and no longer traveled the martial world.
Yet no one dared underestimate them.
After all, when the two had first roamed the martial world, they had already been experts of the Grandmaster Realm.
After years of cultivation and recuperation, their martial arts had long reached a terrifying level.
"The saber-wielder who killed Canghai is near West Lake," Duanhongzi suddenly said.
Nu Zhenren replied, "Then what is there to discuss? Find him, kill him, and avenge Canghai."
"Though that brat Canghai was disappointing, he was still a Qingcheng disciple, Changqingzi's disciple, and our martial nephew."
"No matter how many wrongs he committed, it was not for an outsider to kill him."
A few days earlier, a Mount Song disciple had rushed to Mount Qingcheng and informed them that Yu Canghai had been killed by a saber-wielder.
Thus, Qingcheng had dispatched these two senior figures, Duanhongzi and Nu Zhenren, to leave the mountain and seek revenge.
"We must not be careless." Duanhongzi's expression