The Cloth-Clothed Grandmaster Battle

Wu Zhu slightly lowered his head and allowed the cold night wind to blow as it pushed against the black cloth on his eyes. His steady and terrifying right hand slowly wrapped around the handle of the iron rod at the side of his waist. Step by step he walked towards the direction of the noodle shop.

The thin clothing the man in front of the noodle shop wore was made of rough cloth, of a dirt-yellow color with half sleeves. It was exactly the outfit of a hard labor worker at a river wharf south of Jingdou. There was nothing strange about it at all. He blinked, and the coldness in his eyes did not change at all; neither did the expression on his face. Only with the sound of Wu Zhu's footsteps did he slowly rise from the bench.