As the words fell, a more intense barrage of curses rang out from the crowd, yet among so many cultivators, not a single one dared to step forward.
After the old Taoist was rescued from the water by his disciples and dressed, he too felt too ashamed to linger and left stealthily, leaving behind only a few disciples.
One of his disciples shouted angrily, "Which sect's disciple are you, what's your surname, and where do you live?"
"The defeated do not deserve to know my name," Sangmo decisively refused.
Nonsense, revealing one's true identity at this time is no different from suicide, isn't it?
The disciple was so angry that his face contorted, but he dared not come forward—the shame of defeat was one thing, but above all, he feared having his clothes explode.
As more and more people gathered around, Sangmo began to feel panic rising within her. Now, if more than five people attacked at once, Sangmo would be overwhelmed, and others would be able to get inside.
