"Why has another one come hunting for autumn wind… damn… wonder how many tributes he'll demand this time."
His face was bloodless as he hurried out, opened the great formation, and looked up to see a man in the air.
This man indeed had a gloomy look, brows set close, gray eyes slightly narrowed like a serpent jiao, a black robe crackling in the wind, a sword at his waist wrapped tightly so its shape was hidden.
Zong Yan braced himself and came forward, bending so low it was almost to the ground, and said humbly:
"Junior Zong Yan greets Your Excellency; the presence of Upper Immortal at our humble island fills us with terror…"
Li Yuanxiu only glanced over—this man was but Seventh Layer of Qi Cultivation, not worth mentioning. Instead, he took note of the mortals on the island, each raising their heads in turn; by his estimation there were more than five thousand, which satisfied him greatly.
