Glancing at his watch, he didn't have time to bother with him anymore. They would deal with him when they got out; but in the blink of an eye, the only person left in the room was someone Qinghe had knocked unconscious with a single palm strike, lying sprawled on the ground in the shape of a spread-eagle.
Qinghe and another person appeared directly on the outskirts of the forest. A few minutes' walk should get them to the people waiting outside. Based on her understanding of the old man, even though she had repeatedly told him to go back first, he probably still stayed outside the forest, wanting to be the first to know their news.
Li Yuxuan, bored, was plucking a blade of grass and stuffing it into his mouth, only to spit it out again. He had clearly seen Qinghe do this before, but why was it that when it was his turn, the grass tasted sour and harsh? Could it be that even grass had different varieties? Even with grass, there were distinctions?
