When everyone reached the foot of the mountain, the rain became even heavier, and hailstones the size of eggs pelted their bodies. Even though they were cultivators and would not be injured, the pain still caused them to grimace and grit their teeth. The lakeside was wide open with no place to take shelter, so they all huddled under a large tree, craning their necks to see if there was a ferryman around.
"How is it? Has anyone come over?" Zhong Minyan had been hit by hailstones more than a dozen times, his head covered with countless lumps, pacing anxously.
Ruo Yu looked intently for a while, then sighed and shook her head, "No, it must be late at night, and with the storm raging, no ferryman will come out."
Zhong Minyan swore under his breath and became even more restless.
