Ye Wudao didn't use poisoned needles, just ordinary flying ones. If they had struck a human's throat, death would have come swiftly, but the anatomy of wolves is different. Even though Ye Wudao hit their throats, the wolves didn't die; instead, their ferocity was further ignited.
Ye Wudao once again took out flying needles and threw them at the wolves. Each wolf was hit by at least five or six needles, all in vital areas. Only then did the wolves whimper and fall into pools of their own blood.
Ye Wudao himself breathed a sigh of relief and glanced at Sun Xiaoyuan, who continued to sleep soundly on his back, untouched by the recent chaos, which brought some consolation to Ye Wudao.
However, he didn't have much time for sentimentality and quickly left the area with Sun Xiaoyuan on his back. If the blood's scent attracted more wolves or the predators of the desert, the situation could become even more troublesome.
