Without prompting, all six people present, along with Yang Shuang, turned to look.
Their expressions varied: some were grave, some wary, some startled and doubtful.
Yang Shuang was pale. Several formidable fighters already surrounded her, and now another extraordinary figure had arrived. She feared escaping today would be all but impossible. The Black-Skirted Woman knitted her brows and waved a slender hand, and the killing intent pressing in from the woods immediately receded like a tide.
Lian Youming was wrestling with himself. He slowly slipped one hand into his pocket and kept the other behind his back. In his pocket were the pills Yan Lingyun had given him; behind his back, he concealed a Military Dagger. At the first sign of trouble, he would blind their eyes, launch his attack, then take Yang Shuang and flee far away.
But although only six people stood out in the open, the moment he spoke and revealed himself, numerous gazes had turned toward him from the shadows all around. Most likely, they belonged to the various forces that only dared watch and wait.
Feeling those gazes settle on him, Lian Youming ultimately abandoned the idea of attacking.
At that thought, he simply threw caution aside. For no reason, the Junk King's drooping eyelids and dismissive gaze came to mind. Raising his chin slightly, he copied the look convincingly and walked forward, step by step.
Besides, this coded greeting of his was no ordinary underworld jargon that anyone could learn or dare repeat. According to the old man, the Three Teachings had agreed upon it back when they joined forces to overthrow the Qing and restore the Ming. Though the three eventually parted ways, their altars remained bound by the same incense, honoring their shared ties. From then on, the Three Teachings had reckoned