The sun sank behind the western hills, and the faintly chilly night breeze swept up a few dead leaves on Old Street.
A string of lanterns outside the inn shed a dim yellow glow, illuminating a patch a little over ten feet across before the entrance.
Ye Jingtang stood in his black official uniform, his long hair tied with a black ribbon and a saber hanging behind his waist, looking toward the second floor of the restaurant nearby.
Xuanyuan Hongzhi stood at the window with a black cloth masking his face. With both arms injured, he was not at full fighting strength, so he did not jump straight down, merely looking down at the surrounded Ye Jingtang.
The other four encircling him also had their heads and faces covered. Besides Yao Wenzhong, Eighth Master Fan, and Han Shaoping, there was a swordsman from Zezhou who had just arrived.
Although time had been short and the remaining two had not made it to Wanshui Town, two top-tier experts, including Yao Wenzhong, together with three seasoned independent martial artists, could kill anyone with ease as long as they did not encounter a Martial Chief.
Seeing that Ye Jingtang had come to face them with only a saber and was already caught in a situation where nine paths led to death and only one to life, a cold sneer flashed in Xuanyuan Hongzhi's eyes. He even taunted him:
"Ye Jingtang, today I'll see where you can run!"
Ye Jingtang surveyed Old Street, his expression neither heated nor cold, and replied:
"If I remember correctly, you two useless fools were the ones who ran first yesterday. I hadn't even had my fill of fighting. What do you mean, where can I run?"
Yao Wenzhong had lost his saber yesterday entirely because his pig-brained teammate