The man in the Daoist robe sneered, “Look at him—probably even his source of Qi is damaged. How strange. On Penglai Island, apart from us, who else could wound Bai Chan like this?” The peerless beauty only covered her mouth and laughed softly, her gaze flicking over Bai Chan but she said nothing. Only the hulking, burly man remained expressionless. He slowly sat up, pushed the woman aside, and fixed Bai Chan with a pair of cold, tangible stares. His voice was low and full of pressure: “Explain.” Under those eyes—especially the hulking man’s—Bai Chan trembled ever so slightly. Swallowing his humiliation, he stepped forward, dropped to one knee, bowed his head, and recited, in full, everything that had occurred: from being roused by Li Wenxing and the others, to slaying mortals on a whim, being stopped by Dustin, losing the spiritual contest, and finally being counter-killed by the thunder strike—forcing him to use a life-saving secret art to reconstruct his body. As he spoke, the ...