Zhang Hui lay on the ground, his young flesh disintegrating and collapsing at a visible rate. Limbs and flesh fell from his body; even the ink lines couldn't hold them, and bloody water gushed from his pores, quickly pooling into a large stain on the ground.
With a turn of the head, the Xuanji scholar let out a whimper, while Qingguo stared blankly at his bloodstained hands. It was only the jujube who, probably used to seeing skinning scenes, showed little reaction, but he furrowed his brows and displayed a look of concern.
Li Fan stared at the youth on the ground, who soon became unrecognizable, still somewhat muddled as he passed the gourd to Daoist Yao.
The latter's smile had vanished, his face frosty, as he brushed aside Li Fan's gourd and spoke directly to the three equally shocked loose cultivators nearby.
"Thanks to the three of you for coming to assist, but what follows is an internal private affair of Mo Zhu Mountain, please step aside."
