The leaves scattered with the wind, floating down along the steep mountain wall.
Behind Qinghe Palace.
The old Daoist Zhang Xuan's lips trembled as he looked at his suddenly appearing disciple, Zhang Rongfang.
His mind was blank.
The group behind Zhao Yuetian had already collapsed into a pool of blood.
Could such a silent massacre be carried out by his disciple?
He... had just begun to acquire skills when he left, right?
At this moment, the first thing he thought of was not anything else but: Is this person really Zhang Rongfang? Or is it some master fooling him for fun?
At this time, behind Zhang Rongfang, Qingsu was gasping for breath as she rushed over, also witnessing the trail of corpses and blood.
Her face turned pale; for the first time, she recalled in her heart the scene when she first met the Pavilion Master.
Back then.... that person was also...
In an instant, Qingsu raised her head to stare at Zhang Rongfang's back, as if she saw the shadow of someone from him.
