Wang Chong had little desire to meddle in other people's affairs. After everything he had experienced lately, he knew it was extremely difficult to distinguish right from wrong in the blood feuds of the martial world. For all he knew, the people being hunted were the villains. He had no intention of rashly playing the indiscriminate do-gooder, and even smeared some powder over his face to avoid trouble.
Ever since transmigrating, Wang Chong had habitually carried unscented powder in every shade, blended with grease and stored in palm-sized boxes, ready for emergencies.
The rider pursuing those people spotted Wang Chong from afar as well. He drew his bow into a full moon and sent an arrow straight at Wang Chong's face.
Wang Chong had not anticipated this. The Folding Fan flew from his sleeve and knocked the feathered arrow to the ground. Unable to help feeling a little angry, he shouted, "You shot an arrow at me, so I'll send a leaf back!" He casually plucked a leaf and launched it with the Flying Flowers, Plucking Leaves Hand. Infused with True Qi, the leaf shrieked sharply through the air, shooting forward like a flying knife or arrow. The archer was slightly alarmed and hurriedly blocked with his longbow. With a crack, the fine bow was sliced apart by the leaf. Wang Chong did not particularly like the Flying Flowers, Plucking Leaves Hand. He had used this martial art only twice in total: once to cut a squirrel into two half-squirrels, and this time to sever an enemy's bow with a flying leaf.
The archer flew into a rage, threw down his broken bow, and snatched a spear from his saddle. "Where did you come from, you barbarian? Prepare to die!"
There was a peculiar inflection to his speech. Wang Chong