Like a fierce tiger charging into a flock of sheep, the scene that had been rather lively moments ago instantly scattered, everyone fleeing like startled birds and scurrying rats.
Inside the teahouse, the storyteller onstage, who had been glaring with rage and speaking in ringing, forceful tones, saw that the true masters of the Mocking Heaven Sect had arrived. His legs went limp, and he collapsed to the floor, crawling with difficulty toward the depths of the teahouse, his eyes filled with terror.
What storyteller did not embellish their tales?
But Chen Qiu had risen almost overnight. There was truly no framework for his rise to be found. Yet so many customers had been eagerly waiting for him to tell the story, so he could only embellish it a little more—perhaps no more than sixty or seventy percent.
He had actually felt somewhat guilty himself, but when he saw that the other storytellers were even more outrageous than he was, he grew more and more confident the longer he spoke.
But now, the true master had suddenly come knocking.
The string in his heart snapped in an instant. If he did not run now, he might have to leave his old life here later.
Fat Dragon did not have to wait long.
After barely seven or eight breaths, Fat Dragon tilted his head toward the western side of Great Fate City. A powerful cultivator at Nascent Soul Late Stage had activated his movement technique at full speed and shot toward him, landing before him in the blink of an eye.
It was a middle-aged man.
A trace of panic flashed through the man's eyes. Looking at the eight Nascent Soul cultivators, his voice trembled involuntarily as he said softly, "Greetings, elders of the Mocking Heaven Sect. I am the sect