On the back mountain of the Devil Palace in Demon Ridge, on the terrace outside a cave halfway up the mountain, Zhao Xiongge sat on the cliff's edge with his legs dangling over it. Mountain winds blew around him as he cradled a wine jug and drank slowly, watching the strange shafts of light that occasionally pierced the unbroken dark clouds.
A figure descended from the sky and landed at the cave entrance. His long hair fluttered in the wind. It was Wu Chang.
Without turning his head, Zhao Xiongge took a swig and said, "You came."
Wu Chang said, "Weren't you the one who wanted to see me?"
Zhao Xiongge said, "You're one of the Nine Saints, a supreme being of the world, after all. You're really obedient—tell you to come, and you come."
Wu Chang glanced at the pitch-black cave, then at the scruffy man by the cliff, and said coldly, "You're a man the Holy Maiden favored. The Demon Cult would not treat you poorly. Is there no place for you in the Devil Palace? Why make yourself look so destitute?"
Zhao Xiongge sighed. "I had no choice. Who knows how many informants you have in the Devil Palace? Living alone is more comfortable." He took another gulp, wiped his mouth with his sleeve, and burped. "The thing is in my hands!"
Wu Chang's gaze shook. Staring at his back, he slowly said, "I knew long ago that it was in your hands. What? Have you finally thought it through and decided to hand it over?"
Zhao Xiongge reached out and patted the ground. "Come, sit over here."
Wu Chang did not move. He looked down at him, somewhat unable to tell what this man was up to.
Zhao Xiongge looked back and chuckled. "How many times