When the old Daoist woke up, he immediately felt as though his body was floating, with his body flying ahead while his head chased behind.
Seeing that it was Han Yu carrying him on a mad dash, the old Daoist coughed repeatedly.
"Couldn't you use another way to carry me?"
"We're running for our lives; does the posture really matter?"
Han Yu replied without slowing down or looking back, as the scenery whipped by, leaving only fleeting silhouettes in the wind.
"Which way are we headed?"
The old Daoist shook his dizzy head, the aftermath of his recent unconsciousness leaving his thoughts sluggish.
But if he hadn't passed out, the pain would have killed him.
"Westward!"
Han Yu's words made the old Daoist's voice shoot up several pitches.
"What? Westward!"
The old Daoist slapped Han Yu's back in a panic.
Are you crazy!
To the west is where the Yama Hall's troops are stationed, who knows if the green-robed Meng Yun might have returned there.
