Wang Xian's eye twitched.
Fate? What kind of fate would lead someone to be hunted all the way to this godforsaken place?
He suddenly let out a cold laugh, his mockery utterly undisguised. "To be honest, I was hunted here!"
In that instant, he thought of Ye Honglian's stunning yet twisted face, and of how the long sword in her hand had torn through his protective qi.
He thought of her gritted-teeth vow: "Wang Xian, to the ends of heaven and earth, I will kill you!"
At his words, the old monk's expression did not change. He only stared at Wang Xian in a daze—if the gaze of those deep-pool-like eyes could be called dazed.
After a while, he finally replied softly, his voice betraying neither joy nor anger.
"I see. I never imagined someone was hunting you, benefactor. May I ask where that person is now? Do you need this old monk's help?"
"No!"
Wang Xian's face changed. He gave a snort, but said nothing more, turning his head away and no longer looking at him.
Help?
The old monk could barely save himself, trapped inside the tower. How could he help anyone?
Besides, although Ye Honglian was mad, her strength was peerless. She was one of the finest sword cultivators of the younger generation.
The old monk's aura was as deep as the sea, impossible to fathom, but Wang Xian had a feeling that if they really fought, the outcome would be uncertain.
More importantly, he had a sense of foreboding that grew stronger by the moment.
This old monk had appeared out of nowhere, saved him, and spoken in riddles. He was probably up to no good.
After all, a thousand years had passed. If the old monk could have left, he would have done so long