Over the desert washed in yellow sand, a bloodstained figure staggered in flight.
The man, in his late twenties, had a face like jade, eyes bright as stars, and an aura of aristocratic elegance carried in his brows. He was undeniably a handsome man.
Zhu Yi.
His current condition was not good, his left arm was cut off, his clothes soaked in blood as he fled for his life.
It was just his arm that was cut off, not his head, so, Zhu Yi's high-caliber intelligence, comparable to that of Xunyu, was unaffected and working overtime during his escape. At regular intervals, he would release a few copies of himself -- sometimes as many as five, sometimes only two -- and scatter them around, leaving his pursuers as clueless as headless flies.
Regrettably, his efforts were only somewhat successful. Zhu Yi might have had a brain, but those pursuing him were no dummies either.
