The young man's jade-like face was stained with frost and dust, his long hair as wild as tangled grass.
He wore only a white inner robe, tattered and scorched, which barely managed to cover the body he had only just grown into.
Yet this young man, who looked utterly shabby and destitute, gave no sense of being down and out. His expression as he spoke was so serious, and his bearing before an enemy so composed. His eyes were clear and bright, and the corners of his lips curved faintly upward, as though he were doing something he found immensely entertaining.
Does he find himself amusing? Strange Daoist could not help wondering.
"Yan Xiangma?" Strange Daoist sized up the young man and said, "You're Yan Xiangma?"
"A true man never changes his name or surname." The young man looked flamboyant and proud as he spoke. "Who are you? Why did you commit murder in the Bamboo Sea?"
He swept his gaze over the Black Riders strewn across the ground, killed by the horsetail whisk, and the corpses cleaved in two. A cold glint flashed in his eyes as he said, "Monks are supposed to cherish compassion. You struck with such viciousness and left people no way to live. It seems you aren't good people either."
Strange Daoist glanced at Undying Impermanence and said, "He killed them. It has nothing to do with this old Daoist."
Undying Impermanence let out a series of cold laughs. "That's right, I cut them down. How could Strange Daoist use blades or swords to kill? He merely sends a needle through someone's throat with the ease of a drifting cloud and flowing water. Aside from those killed by the sword, all the other Black Riders died by your hand. Only then can a monk's compassion