Amid the crowd scattering like ants fleeing disaster, Yin Kuang rode a fine steed, its four hooves galloping like lightning. An invisible yet tangible force sent aside anyone blocking his path, ensuring that the loose, chaotic crowd did not impede him while also preventing harm to innocent people. Though Yin Kuang did not particularly value these commoners' lives, he had no intention of slaughtering innocents or trampling lives beneath filthy hooves. Before long, there were no more fleeing people ahead of him—only a small plain that rose and fell gently but was otherwise fairly level.
Whatever happened behind him no longer had anything to do with him. Yin Kuang trusted that Tang Rouyu and the others would handle it.
In the distance stood a mountain, like a foot planted across Yin Kuang's path, or a sleeping beast lying prone upon the ground. By the bright moonlight, Yin Kuang saw Wang Yun's convoy and the scattered Western Liang soldiers turn around to the far side of the mountain. Narrowing his eyes, Yin Kuang put more force into his whip, lashing his mount until it whinnied incessantly.
On the far side of the mountain, Allen and the others, disguised as the Western Liang Army, watched the convoy ahead draw closer and closer, their hearts surging with excitement. They whipped their horses even harder. Imagining that famed peerless beauty of ancient China moaning and crying beneath them, her despair mingling with pleasure, fantasizing about the sensation of ultimate softness rubbing against hardness—and even feeling a trace of smug satisfaction at ravaging ancient Chinese civilization—Allen proudly got hard.
People all had desires. Even in Western God, not everyone could, like Taige Rui, place the overall interests of Western God above personal lust through an almost perverse force of will—perhaps because he was a third-year