On the road to the slaughterhouse.
Tang Wu leaned against the wall, smoking his dry pipe, with his battered throat puffing out clouds of smoke and ash.
Ma Weigong suppressed his discomfort. At Tang Wu's age, the dry tobacco he smoked had to be laced with mild poisons, otherwise the body wouldn't feel a thing.
"Cough, cough, cough..."
It was rare to see Tang Wu so disheartened, so Ma Weigong softly recounted Li Mo's exploits.
Tang Wu's expression grew complicated. Stretching out his rotting, ulcer-covered tongue, he licked his lips. "Innate and Acquired Dual Dao Body, not even thirty years old yet already at Weak Crown Middle Stage, a mid-grade Artifact Refiner, and medical skills only second to Han Cai."
The talents Li Mo displayed—any one of them would be enough to astonish the masses. Combined in a single individual, they seemed almost fantastical.
"Li Mo, Four-Footed Taoist, Mountain and Sea Hermit... tsk, tsk, tsk..."
Tang Wu chuckled bitterly, shaking his head.
