She was now very worried about Jiang Shaobai.
Without any hesitation, Ye Qingtang headed toward the elders' hall with Little White Tiger in her arms.
On the way there, she could see bloodstains and the fallen bodies of Jiang family disciples all around. Foreboding thoughts wrecked havoc on her mind and Ye Qingtang felt increasingly fretful.
The back area of Taiyuan Valley was covered in blood. Those fallen disciples had encountered wretched deaths by the side of the road.
Ye Qingtang charged toward the elders' hall.
By the time she stood before the hall, her face had turned completely pale. Within the hall, Elder Qian and the others were all "sitting" in the middle.
"Elder Qian…" Ye Qingtang's lips quivered as she stared at the elder sitting upon a chair, his head drooping downward. She could smell the thick, pungent scent of blood.
Elder Qian was sitting there like how he always used to.
