The Old Man of the Corpse Refining Sect

The figure shuffled along at an agonizingly slow pace, as though every step cost him tremendous effort.

Dusk deepened, and the light had already grown dim.

Only when the man reached the edge of the hot spring did Shen Hui see clearly that he was a hunched old man.

His back was bent like a bow, and he leaned on a pitch-black cane capped with iron, its tip long polished bright from wear.

The old man's head was covered in disheveled gray-white hair, his face layered with wrinkles. He paused every few steps as he walked, looking as though he might topple over at any moment.

When he came within thirty feet of Shen Hui, he dared not approach any farther. He merely stood where he was, his legs trembling faintly. His lips quivered for a long while before he finally squeezed out a cry:

"Se... Senior."

Shen Hui did not answer. He first swept his gaze over the old man.

The old man's spiritual energy was mixed and impure, and his cultivation was no more than Mid Qi Refining.

Had it not been for the faint, barely perceptible trace of corpse qi clinging to him, blending into the wild grass and trees of the mountains, there would have been almost no way to notice anything unusual.

"Who are you?" Shen Hui asked.

His tone was calm, but the sword light at his fingertips had yet to disperse. The meaning behind his words was self-evident.

The old man's throat bobbed. He quickly glanced up at Shen Hui, then hastily lowered his head again and muttered:

"This little old man is... from the Corpse Refining Sect."

Shen Hui's gaze sharpened slightly.

"The Corpse Refining Sect?"

He stared at the old man for a moment before slowly saying:

"This is the territory