Zhu Zhanjun's icy voice sent the temperature in the entire tent plunging to freezing.
Nearby, Li Da stared at the dark purple blood flowing from Zhang Ke's wound. His face had gone deathly pale, and his legs gave way, leaving him slumped on the ground.
Although he had no idea why the blood was purple, he knew they were finished.
All their disguises had been torn away in that instant.
"Ah... ah..."
Clutching his arm as blood poured from it, Zhang Ke rolled across the ground in agony, unable to make a single coherent sound.
That slap from Zhu Zhanjun had not only split open his wound; it had also driven a domineering force of inner energy into his body, wreaking havoc on his meridians.
It felt as if his internal organs were on fire. The pain was unbearable.
"Looks like General Zhang is badly hurt."
Zhu Zhanjun looked down at him, his tone full of scorn.
"Seems I used this prince's Golden Wound Medicine in the wrong place."
"That's no knife wound. This is clearly... you cultivated some crooked, unorthodox art and went into cultivation deviation, didn't you?"
He planted a foot on Zhang Ke's chest, stopping him from rolling around.
"Tell me, which Shaman Sorcerer taught you these Evil Arts?"
"And that White Hair Wind in Mobei—you had a hand in that too, didn't you?"
Zhang Ke shuddered all over. He looked up at Zhu Zhanjun with the eyes of a man staring at a demon.
He... how could he know?
How could he know about the Shaman Evil Arts?
How could he know about the White Hair Wind in Mobei?
Fear—an unprecedented fear—completely devoured Zhang Ke's reason.
At last, he understood that the man before him was no ordinary Imperial Grandson. He was a monster who had