Several hundred yards ahead of the Incense-Passing Cult convoy stood several dozen men in bright armor, lined up in neat ranks, all holding Weapons. Before them stood several refined-looking men. Though they carried no Weapons, their temples bulged high, and treasured swords hung at their waists; at a glance, they were clearly masters of the sword path. At the very front stood an old man in feathered robes and a starry crown, leisurely fanning himself with a feather fan, looking like a fisherman waiting for fish to take the bait.
Seeing this, Zhang Xiaohua was startled. They had only just left Hui Chun Valley, yet they had already run into an ambush? But if it was an ambush, it did not look like one. Who stood out in the open like this? Would they not hide somewhere concealed and strike when the convoy passed, catching them off guard?
While he was still puzzled, the old man made an even more baffling move. He raised his head to look at the sun, his brow creasing slightly. Then, high in the distance, someone rapidly waved a small flag. Delight immediately appeared on the old man's face, and he turned to give some instructions. Several young men waved their hands, and Zhang Xiaohua thought they were about to hide themselves. Instead, the dozens of tightly clad warriors put away their Weapons and quickly went around the mountain. Before long, they returned. Some held bouquets, some carried trays, and others bore enormous chests. They came to the roadside, arranged themselves in formation, and wore expressions of utmost respect.
Zhang Xiaohua glanced at the trays and suddenly understood. They contained food and wine.
Dizzying. So they were people trying to flatter the Incense-Passing Cult.
Zhang Xiaohua could not be bothered with them any longer and