Chi Wenyan's face still carried a nearly crazed smile; he thoroughly enjoyed the process of torturing and killing.
Especially torturing and killing these cultivators who were capable of flying and disappearing, it brought him immense satisfaction and a sense of honor.
The man stood with his arms crossed, coldly watching, without a hint of sympathy, silently observing everything.
His expression seemed somewhat fatigued, feeling Chi Wenyan talked too much and acted far too sluggishly.
The man seemed bored as he yawned, just about to close his eyes for a short nap when the hair on his forehead was suddenly lifted by a gentle breeze.
The breath of that gentle breeze was starkly incongruous with the surrounding atmosphere, pure like the notion of wind and pines, bright as the course of the sun and moon, and within the seemingly shapeless breath of the wind hid a frighteningly sharp and simple sword intent.
