The next day was a cloudy day with a heavy overcast sky. On a narrow mountain path, two horses galloped past, and on the rear horse sat the tall and thin Zhang Xiaohua.
At this moment, Zhang Xiaohua's face still looked pale, no different from the day before. Senior Brother Quan, who was a few horse lengths ahead, kept turning his head to look back and impatiently scolded him, "Can't you go faster? It's almost noon, and we still have quite a distance from Baiyue Peak. Even if we take a shortcut, I don't think we'll make much progress."
What the elder disciple of Wu Ming Hall said was indeed true. This was indeed a shortcut, but it was also extremely rugged and bumpy, which made it difficult for the injured Zhang Xiaohua to travel. He vomited a little chunk of fresh blood an hour ago and dared not speed up his horse's pace. When Senior Brother Quan saw this, he changed from urging Xiaohua along to constantly complaining in his ears.
