"Young Master, this is no place to linger. We should leave quickly."
Lü Yue's round face had gone pale. This was presumably his first time seeing such a horrific scene, and he worried for Meng Zhao's safety.
If either side had shown any concern for the innocent civilians and held back their strength, the casualties would not have been so severe.
Under such circumstances, even if Meng Zhao revealed his identity, it would likely do no good.
As they spoke, one of the figures locked in battle suddenly broke away from the fighting.
He transformed into a streak of green smoke and shot toward a shop with stone lions standing before its entrance.
Once he landed, his true appearance was revealed. He planted his feet in a horse stance, exhaled with a shout, and lightly struck out with one palm—yet unimaginably terrifying force erupted from it.
His somewhat thin palm struck a stone lion weighing several hundred jin and sent it flying straight through the air like a speeding train, hurtling toward the other figure.
The stone lion compressed the air as it flew, producing a whooshing shriek like ghosts weeping and wolves howling.
Only then did Meng Zhao clearly see the man's appearance. He looked to be in his thirties, with a long, bloodless face.
His hair was disheveled, and faint bluish bruises seemed to mark his forehead. His inverted triangular eyes carried a venomous glint.
His tall, thin frame was wrapped in a dark green robe, filthy and riddled with several tears and holes, leaving him in a thoroughly bedraggled state.
Yet one could not judge a man by his appearance, nor measure the sea with a bushel.
This man, bedraggled though he was, possessed extraordinary cultivation. He had comprehended the wondrous truths of the Innate Martial Dao