Su Wanwan walked behind White Wolf, her five tails dragging behind her, their tips drawing five shallow grooves across the sand. Over the past few days, she had been thinking about what Feilian had said—"Next time, it won't just be the two of us." She had thought about it for three days and still could not figure out how many "won't just be the two of us" meant. Two? Five? Ten? A hundred? She did not know. But she knew one thing—the thing behind them, the thing that could make Great Demons on Feilian's and Quqi's level willingly serve as vanguards, had to be far stronger than they were.
She wanted to ask Chu Yang, but Chu Yang had spoken very little these past few days. It was not that he was deliberately staying silent; walking was simply too exhausting. In the desert, even talking used up moisture, and everyone was trying to open their mouths as little as possible. Even Sun Wukong had quieted down quite a bit. He had changed the Golden Staff into a short rod and tucked it behind his waist, so he would not have to carry it on his shoulder and let it grow scorching hot under the sun. He walked at the very front of the group, his feet not sinking into the sand. When he stepped onto the sand's surface, he left only a faint print behind, like a leaf fallen onto the desert, ready to be blown away by the wind.
Tang Monk rode on White Dragon Horse, holding a waterskin in his hand, feeding White Dragon Horse a mouthful every so often. White Dragon Horse had no real problems; he was a dragon, after all, and the desert could hardly be considered much of a trial for him. But Tang