Not long after Yang He left, an old man slowly walked out of the prison.
The old man was skin and bones, yet he did not look like someone on the verge of death. Instead, he resembled a starving tiger, ready to swallow its prey whole at any moment.
He removed his armor, revealing scars of all sizes.
With every breath, two bull horns on his chest seemed about to pierce through his flesh.
It was as if... a bull were contained within his body.
"King Wucheng." Zhou Ji stood respectfully at the side and took the armor from the old man. The other soldiers did not even dare to speak.
"Zhou Ji, who is he?"
Huang Feihu carried an imposing air without anger, his gaze fixed on Yang He's retreating figure.
"That Daoist is a True Disciple of Qianyuan Mountain. His name is Yang He, and he is responsible for the four halls on the southwestern side of Nuwa Palace. He was the one who helped suppress the Nuwa Statues."
"He reeks of corpses."
Huang Feihu spoke calmly, his knuckles tapping against the prison's iron gate. "Grandmaster Taiyi has taken in another Daoist boy destined for immortality, but I heard that becoming an immortal through corpse liberation is a crooked path."
Moo—
Two streams of white vapor billowed from Huang Feihu's nostrils as the bull horns on his chest gradually receded.
"Zhou Ji, how many statues are still missing from Yang He's halls on the southwestern side?"
"Three."
"Perfect. Give him the three we just suppressed as well."
"But..." Zhou Ji hesitated. "The Nuwa Statues on the lower level are exceedingly vicious. Could they possibly go out of control?"
"Whether they will lose control is unclear, but Yang He is the only one capable of suppressing them."
Huang Feihu