In the north of Liao City, Xiang Yang and Ning Ke, having spent a full three hours touring the city, casually found a modestly sized tavern and prepared to sample its signature dishes.
They chose a table on the second floor near the stairs and ordered their food and wine. As they sat waiting, a shrill scream suddenly rose from downstairs, followed by the sounds of a heavy body crashing into things, tables and chairs scattering, and porcelain shattering.
Ning Ke's previously pleasant mood was instantly ruined. Her delicate brows rose sharply, Baleful Intent flashing in her eyes as she lowered her head to look into the tavern's first-floor hall. There, she saw a young man in his twenties who seemed to have been hurled into the hall by some tremendous force.
He had collided with and smashed apart four tables along the way, breaking countless bowls and plates. He now lay amid spilled soup, wine, and dishes like a lump of mud, utterly disheveled, dark red blood seeping from his body. His injuries were clearly severe.
Yet the diners were all adopting the attitude of hanging a matter that did not concern them high above their heads. They watched the young man coldly, utterly unmoved, with no intention whatsoever of lending a hand.
At the tavern entrance stood a rugged man in his thirties, dressed in ornate brocade robes. He was tall and brawny, with huge hands and feet. Not only did he look fierce and vicious, he was clearly immensely strong.
The intervals between his breaths were short yet steady, revealing that his internal cultivation was far from shallow. Among acquired martial artists, he counted as a skilled expert.
"Do you really think that after drinking a few drops of horse piss, you can just say whatever you