The Yaksha turned back to glance at Song Yun, whose clothes were tattered, and whose mouth was still bleeding. He couldn't help but frown before he laughed and scolded, "You brat, how can you speak to your master like this in front of so many people."
"Hehe."
Song Yun chuckled and walked toward the Yaksha.
His steps were unsteady, his movements sluggish, and each step seemed to take a significant amount of effort.
He reached the Yaksha, lifted his heavy arm, and patted the Yaksha's shoulder, leaving a bloody handprint on his gray Daoist robe.
With a pale face, Song Yun smiled and said, "Old man, do you remember what I said?"
The Yaksha mumbled, "You've said so many things since you were little, how can I remember?"
Song Yun's smile gradually faded as he solemnly said, "I said, I will handle my own affairs. How can I trouble you, an elder, to fight for me today, to lower your status and duel with an old bastard? Leave this matter to me, your unworthy disciple."
