“The match is decided. Congratulations to the winner for obtaining Prince Ma’s Whip!”

I cast them a glance and carried Chuyi towards the inn. 

“Merciful Buddha,” chanted Zen Master Baimei. He brought his palms together in front of his chest then followed me. “Young Benefactor, don’t worry. Chuyi will be fine.” 

I didn’t bat an eye at him. When we arrived at the inn, I carefully placed Chuyi on the bed and treated his wounds. 

There was not a single square inch of intact skin on his body. Dark blood was oozing from the wounds created by the Ghost Cutter. Zen Master Baimei used the same method to treat the cuts. Strangely enough, Chuyi didn’t scream when the knife cut into his flesh, nor did he react when the old monk put ointment on him. 

My eyes turned watery...