"Fellow Daoist, why must you speak so rudely? I have no intention of interfering with your affairs,"
said Chu Yi with a smile that did not reach his eyes.
"Get lost!"
The cultivator grew impatient and waved his longsword around.
Chu Yi steeled his heart, and the Blood Sword immediately appeared.
The complexions of those few people darkened, and several old men focused their eyes sharply on the Blood Sword, seemingly deep in thought.
"Kid, it seems you won't shed a tear until you see the coffin!"
"A mere Qi Refinement Loose Cultivator dares to contend with our Sects?"
"How about this, we first slaughter this little runt, then we can discuss the ownership of the Mist Spirit!"
"I think that's a good idea!"
Chu Yi was on the verge of cursing aloud.
Good idea, my ass!
Two groups ganging up on one in the Qi Refinement Realm?
Have you no martial decency!
"Blood Sword!"
An old man muttered to himself.
"Master, do you have something to say?"