Xia Changsheng stood with his hands behind his back, gripping his sword, offering no response to the thin man's words.
He remained as still as a mountain, like an insurmountable sacred peak that made it impossible for the two people and the crane to advance even an inch.
Especially the pink-and-white Spirit Crane; its wings, stretching a zhang in length, fluttered with a rhythm that was usually steady, but now appeared somewhat disordered.
Chapter 181