This girl was also innocent and carefree, with no thought of guarding against him. In her eyes, the man before her was her savior. Since that was so, there was nothing to guard against.
Following the girl, Ye Xiwen arrived at a small village at the foot of Mount Buzhou. Such villages dotted the foothills of Mount Buzhou like scattered stars and could be found everywhere.
The girl's home stood at the edge of the little village, practically beyond its boundaries.
Because the Human Race was powerful—especially here, in the core stronghold of the Human Race around Mount Buzhou—no powerful experts of other races would appear. Humans had no need to build cities for protection, and scattered villages, even tribes, spread across the foothills of Mount Buzhou.
Along the way, the girl told Ye Xiwen her name as well: Bian Xiaoyue. She had a father, whom everyone in the village called Old Man Bian. This time, she had gone out to gather herbs for her gravely ill father.
Ye Xiwen swept his gaze over the place and roughly understood. Bian Xiaoyue's family was clearly unwelcome in the village; their location alone made that obvious. It was simply too remote.
It was a rather small wooden house. With one glance, Ye Xiwen saw through it completely. The cabin was divided into two sections. On the bed in the outer room lay a middle-aged man, but his breath was already as thin as a thread. It was clear that he had suffered serious injuries. Lying in bed, he could only drag through one day at a time.
The inner room was Bian Xiaoyue's bedroom. There were no exquisite decorations, but it was quite neat and clean.
There were only the father and daughter in this household. As for her mother, she had