The elderly mute man moved very slowly.
His flight speed was much slower than that of ordinary cultivators.
As the old servant of the master, his exact age was unknown to anyone. He had been slow for so many years, ingrained into his bones, and it had long become a life habit.
Or could it perhaps be said, this was his nature?
Ping Shanhai was not an impatient man. As the Swordsman of One Sword Mountain, he continued to wait in mid-air for the challenger who was slow to appear.
Await as he may, he finally saw an extremely hunched figure slowly drifting over.
The silent old man held his walking stick in his right hand and carried a small lantern in his left.
Since he had not been to the back mountain prior, what he filled in the small lantern was not the magical fireflies from the mountain, but rather a small red candle.
The old man seemed to enjoy carrying a small lantern at night.
