Hearing Jiang Zixuan say this, the woman was somewhat baffled. If they were both southern martial artists, that would be one thing—there would at least be some incense-burning ties between them. If that man were not Meng Zhao but Shen Tianci, there might even be all sorts of tangled connections, and perhaps they truly might have a chance of surviving.
But Meng Zhao was a pure northern martial artist, with no relation to them even if one stretched eight bamboo poles. What value could they possibly have to him?
"What, you don't believe me? Haven't you noticed that Meng Zhao is very concerned about the southern Rebel Army and the army suppressing the rebellion?"
The woman nodded.
"I noticed. By all reason, trapped within the Ancient Battlefield where danger lurks everywhere, even if he wanted to ask questions, he should have first asked about this place. Yet that man kept clinging to the matter of the Rebel Army. He truly does care about it—but what does that have to do with us?"
The woman had no interest whatsoever in whether there was a Rebel Army or not. Nor did she think Meng Zhao had any special purpose in asking about it. At most, since he was in the Northern Lands and the south was so far away, his channels of information were scarce, so he merely wished to satisfy his curiosity.
Yet this was precisely because her hair was long and her insight short.
Jiang Zixuan, however, had glimpsed Meng Zhao's true intentions from this and said with a smile, "That is exactly the issue. Do you know what era this is now?
"Heroes vie for the deer, warlords carve up the land, and all contend for the Divine Land. You know perfectly well what the south is like now—but