The dust settled and Zhexiu's figure appeared in front of Xiao Zhang.
He wore only a single layer of clothing, and his sleeves and pants had been cut very short, so it was impossible to conceal those needle-like hairs sprouting from his skin.
His fingers were tipped by ten incredibly sharp and tough claws. They gleamed with a cold light that caused onlookers to tremble in fear.
Even more frightening was that his face was also covered in fur, his teeth as sharp as his claws, his eyes overtaken by a bloody red.
At this sight, the crowd exploded in cries of horror, receding like a tide as everyone fled for their lives.
Zhexiu cared not for these things. His eyes remained fixed on those blue-clothed Daoists.
These blue-clothed Daoists were very powerful, and even more terrifying was that they were very dangerous.
Power did not necessarily mean danger. No one understood this principle more than Zhexiu.
