"That kid is Zhang Tiansheng's bloodline, the last descendant of South Zhang."
At this moment, the old bull, who had been silent all the way, suddenly let out a muffled grunt. Its throat moved, making strange syllables, almost like human speech, but strange.
"What's he doing in the Hundred Thousand Mountains?"
"Why do you care so much?" Bald Grandpa glanced askance, saying indifferently, "Even Zhang the Second himself said that future generations' destiny needs to be fought for by themselves."
"Let's go, we still have deliveries to make later!" Bald Grandpa leaped and jumped onto the ox cart.
"I really don't understand, why are you working so hard? The Red Dust of the Mortal World isn't all good."
The old bull rolled its eyes, chewing on dry grass, and couldn't help but speak.
"What do you know?"
Bald Grandpa pulled the reins and raised the long whip.
"This is also cultivation!"
A crack of the whip resounded through the depths of the wild mountains.
