Gong Ziyi's plane landed on time; it was already nine o'clock in the evening, the sky was drizzling, and the wind was a bit cold. A young cultivator in a black Zhongshan suit, with a crew cut, held a black umbrella and greeted Gong Ziyi as he got off the plane.
Knowing he got into the car, the car door slammed shut.
Several kilometers away, on a not-so-tall rooftop, an elder who came from Medicine King Valley said in a deep voice: "I sense the aura of death; Gong Ziyi shouldn't have come here."
Beside him, a middle-aged cultivator, looking like he was in his forties, held an umbrella and said calmly: "Daring to hit Yurou's master, he deserves to die."
The elder smiled: "Heshenghe runs the show here, so we should just watch. As long as he doesn't touch Yurou, don't intervene."
After a moment of silence, the middle-aged cultivator said: "Gong Ziyi has been arrogant for too long."
