"Hmph! Northern Qiao Feng, Southern Murong—what virtue or ability does your cousin have to be named alongside Qiao Feng? It is not that I lack the skill to find him; he is now a homeless dog, and no one knows where he is." As though greatly insulted, the Tibetan monk swept his broad sleeves and cut off the young novice's words. Though they were some distance away, he had been born with a booming voice, and the people here were all experts, so they naturally heard him clearly.
"This Tibetan monk is quite skilled." After observing his footsteps and breathing, Tianshan Tonglao could not help saying so. With Song Qingshu's help in nursing herself back to health along the way, her internal strength had recovered seventy to eighty percent. For her to consider him no weakling showed just how profound his cultivation was.
The Tibetan monk wore plain cloth robes and straw sandals, with not the slightest thing unusual about him. Yet his face shone with vitality, as if a precious radiance flowed faintly across it. Like a bright pearl or fine jade, he naturally gave off luster... Song Qingshu could not help looking strange. This Tibetan monk was an old acquaintance; the only one who could make coarse hemp garments look so dignified was Great Wheel Ming King Jiumozhi.
"Is this man your friend?" Song Qingshu asked Li Qiushui beside him.
"I do not know him." Li Qiushui was startled and asked curiously, "Why do you ask, Young Master?"
"Nothing." Song Qingshu found it rather strange. Jiumozhi had known the Minor Formless Skill before, and that martial art was Li Qiushui's ultimate art. Considering Li Qiushui's fondness for handsome young men, he had thought Jiumozhi had traded his body for the divine skill back then—though with Li Qiushui's beauty,