Two days later, Wang Lin was filling his water reserves on one side of a brook, while keeping a discrete lookout on all sides, suddenly his eyes moved, as he cursed: “Truly lingering like a Ghost”
Taking out the flying sword, putting back the gourd, he jumped across the river, and ran deep into the jungle.
A moment later, Teng Li was careful to not use any magic, having caught up, at this moment he cut a very sorry figure, his body had lost its lustre, he had lost large patches of skin, as he dragged along his right hand, with his shoulders hung down.
Disheveled, looking ashen, with monstrous anger in his eyes, his hate for Wang Lin had gone beyond everything, ever since childhood, he had never been in such a embarrassing and awkward situation.
All of this, was thanks to Wang Lin.