At the thought of that possibility, Third Young Master Bai's scalp went numb. He prided himself on possessing a will of iron; even after repeated blows, he had never bent despite a hundred setbacks.
This journey through Lishou Mountain had also accustomed him to strange events and accidents, toughening his nerves considerably.
Yet when he thought of the ruler of an ancient medieval dynasty—even if he had merely been the sovereign of a fallen state—possibly being reborn and returning to the world in the present day, he still found it impossible to accept. A suffocating dread filled him, as though he could barely breathe.
This was far too terrifying. With his little arms and little legs, his petty plan of obtaining an opportunity, battling Shen Tianci head-on, and dispelling his inner demon was simply not fit to be mentioned.
And it was hardly only him. Even Mr. Yue had fallen into hesitation and conflict. Should they leave as soon as possible and abandon all these supposed opportunities and fortunes? After all, if they truly faced such a hegemon of the medieval era, even leaving safely would be a luxury.
When that time came, they would be the fish on the chopping block.
Yet no matter how they thought about it, the initiative was no longer in their hands. Whether they could leave was not up to their own wishes, but whether Meng Zhao was willing to let them go.
In truth, they were far from the only two who had realized this. Of them all, Mu Yi felt it most deeply.
He thought of his ancestors, thought of his mission, and in the end, it all became a helpless, sorrowful sigh.
"Dragon King Meng, you made Yu Daoist and me fight to the death. No matter what your purpose was,