Central Plains, southern Ji State—a desperate chase was unfolding at this very moment.
An old man and a young girl fled in haste, their faces filled with anxiety and haste.
The old man appeared to be seventy or eighty years old, with disheveled white hair and deeply etched wrinkles. Blood still oozed from a wound on his forehead, and his gray robe was tattered, exposing blood-soaked injuries beneath.
His wounds were grave, bleeding constantly. His aura grew weaker and weaker, even his gaze began to grow dull, as if he might faint any moment from blood loss.
Yet he pressed on desperately by force of will alone. His right hand gripped a broken sword—only half a blade remained, and it was but a low grade Dao Artifact, hardly precious.
And in his left hand, the old man held a girl of fourteen or fifteen years old.
The girl's hair was like a waterfall of black silk; her skin, pure as cream; lips like cherries. She radiated a gentle, elegant poise.
