No wonder Centurion Zhao had mistaken Wang Lang for a demon.
The man before him had white hair and a withered face, his oversized gray robe hanging empty around his body.
Wang Lang sighed inwardly.
With this appearance, it was only normal to frighten people.
He spoke helplessly. "Centurion Zhao, it's me, Wang Lang."
At his words, Centurion Zhao's eyes widened as he carefully examined the contours of the features beneath that wizened face.
He then looked into the courtyard and saw a snow-white little fox squatting on the stone table, covering its mouth with its paws, shoulders trembling as it clearly held back laughter.
He recognized this fox—the spirit pet at Young Master Wang's side.
"It really is Young Master Wang?" Centurion Zhao asked uncertainly, his face full of disbelief.
"You... what terrible calamity befell you?"
"How... how did you end up like this? Could some evil thing have harmed you?"
He simply could not imagine what level of demon could have reduced Wang Lang to such a state.
Wang Lang waved a hand. "It was caused by cultivating an art. My life is not in danger; I merely look strange for the time being. I'll recover after some time."
Centurion Zhao was half-convinced, but Wang Lang's eyes remained clear and spirited,
without the murkiness of someone possessed by evil, so he finally cupped his fists awkwardly and said,
"So that's how it is... Zhao was blind. I hope Young Master Wang will not take offense."
"It's nothing. Caution is only proper."
The two entered the front courtyard of the estate and sat down beside a stone table.
Centurion Zhao accepted the coarse tea Wang Lang offered him, but before drinking, he rubbed his hands together and said with an embarrassed expression,
"Young Master Wang, to be honest, I