Zhao Rong felt a multitude of gazes piercing through the latticed wooden window of the attic, which frightened him into a cold sweat. He panicked, looking around frantically, and instinctively wanted to run away in complete disregard of everything. In the next second, Zhao Rong clenched his teeth tightly and pursed his lips, forcing himself to calm down.
He pulled on a tree branch and used the leaves to cover his figure, his eyes intently peering through the gaps in the foliage at the group of blue-clothed Daoists who had emerged from the observatory tower, trying to ascertain from which direction they would come to capture him after leaving the tower.
Suddenly, Zhao Rong was startled.