When Zhang Yunqing returned to the inn, someone was following him.
Creak—
The wooden door swung open with a dry scrape.
Two figures crossed the threshold, one after the other, emerging from the shadows of the corridor.
A trace of Military Baleful Intent still lingered in Zhang Yunqing's Phoenix Eyes.
The figure behind him drew a flicker of light from Li Xiang's eyes.
He wore an Azure Daoist Robe and carried a Dharma Sword wrapped in yellow talismans on his back. His face was as gentle as polished jade, though pale now. Several tears marred the hem of his robe, which bore faint signs of scorching from a lightning strike.
Lin Xuanshu.
Li Xiang looked at him without speaking.
Lin Xuanshu entered the room and forcibly calmed the disordered Pure Daoist Qi within him. Ignoring his damaged robe, he stopped before Zhang Yunqing, clasped his hands with his left over his right, and gave a Daoist salute.
"If Fellow Daoist Zhang hadn't helped me, I'm afraid I really would have died here today."
The lingering fear in Lin Xuanshu's voice was unmistakable.
Zhang Yunqing walked to the table, removed his cloak stained with corpse fluid, and tossed it onto an empty chair. "Given our friendship, there's no need for formalities."
"But you, Xuanshu..."
Zhang Yunqing turned, his sharp gaze boring into Lin Xuanshu's eyes. "Shouldn't you have returned to Maoshan with your elders after the Blessed Land Contest? Why were you alone beside the Desolate River in the Two-River Basin, tangled up with that worthless filthy thing?"
Li Xiang had been wondering the same thing.
As a Daoist Ancestral Court, Maoshan had unfathomable foundations. Lin Xuanshu was among the most important direct disciples of his generation; surely, sect elders would have escorted him home.
Why had he separated from them?