Xu Yangyi looked icily at the white-haired man and suddenly laughed as well. “What number are you?”

“I am the twelfth-ranked God Ming,” the white-haired man laughed comfortably and elegantly cupped his hands in ceremony. “In the secret realm, I look forward to Fellow Daoist’s many, many pointers.” His gaze fell on the storage ring on Xu Yangyi’s figure. “To take something without telling is called stealing. Presumably, when the Old Ancestor sees that I have returned this item to its original master along with Fellow Daoist Xu’s skull, it will surely be a great comfort to his mind.”

These words were undisturbed, even similar to two old friends, long-acquainted soul brothers, chatting. However, the killing intent in these words were without the least bit concealment. Their gazes were like blades clashing in the air yet died away in the blink of an eye.

“How nice.” Eventually, Xu Yangyi laughed and nodded. “I haven’t taken a life in a long time. I’m itchin’ a little.”

God Ming Twelve smiled as he bowed slightly, his etiquette bereft of fuss. “In that case, I hope Commander Xu can stay alive until we meet, yes?” His long and narrow gaze flashed with a wisp of killing intent, and he sneered, “I… am like someone searching for their lover, foolishly tracking down Fellow Daoist Xu’s footprints.”

The two of them laughed and cupped hands, taking each other’s name and placing it upon the executioner’s platform within their hearts.

The Ming Clan… Within Xu Yangyi’s seemingly tranquil gaze was icy coldness, impossible to...