Late at night.
At the foot of Tangshan, within the tent of the Logistics Army of Dingyou Camp, snoring thundered.
Chen Mu lay on the ground mat at the entrance, eyes fixed and staring into space at the top of the tent.
Having practiced Shape Cultivation seven times, his senses were sharp; to him, the snoring was no different from thunder.
"How I desire a tent of my own."
Unfortunately, that was a privilege reserved for Qu Zhang, the highest-ranking official in Dingyou Camp; everyone else had to squeeze inside the tents.
All ten members of the Logistics Army were crammed into this tent, including his Seventh Uncle.
Buzz buzz buzz...
Annoying insects were buzzing near his ears again.
Hiss!
A streak of black light flashed and was gone.
Sleeve Sword Technique!
"Silence at last..."
Chen Mu's eyes narrowed slightly as he carefully felt the iron ring on his left hand.
