The Demon Race's Intentions

The inn's main hall buzzed with voices. Eight Immortals Tables packed every corner of the room; guests at some tables shouted boisterously, while those at others spoke in quiet murmurs.

There were no storytellers or opera stages here, because most of the guests traveled far and wide. They had no interest in the tales of storytellers or the dramatizations performed onstage.

The moment Wang Ping entered, a waiter in hemp clothes approached him. He was human, not a Demon.

"Bad timing, sir. The only vacant seats in our establishment are over in the corner. Would you..." The waiter was very courteous as he spoke, already preparing to lead Wang Ping to an empty table.

Wang Ping waved a hand. "I'm meeting someone."

When he entered the inn, he had swiftly swept the entire place with his Primordial Spirit and quickly located Bu Qiong. She was not in one of the Private Rooms upstairs, but seated by a window on the left side of the main hall. There was another person at her table, someone who looked much like a human, yet Wang Ping sensed Demonic Qi from him.

There were only two possibilities. Either he was a Human Way cultivator practicing demonic arts—but cultivators like that could at most reach the Immortal Realm, and had no qualifications to sit at the same table as Bu Qiong—or there was only one other possibility: he was a Core Formation Great Demon. Demons of that realm could take human form.

As Wang Ping walked toward Bu Qiong, he deliberately released a trace of his aura. Bu Qiong, who was drinking tea, immediately sensed it. She promptly called for the Demon Race member beside her to rise, then hurried over when her gaze met Wang Ping's.

"That's a rat!"

Yulian's voice rang out in