Half a month swiftly passed.0

Zhao Changhe sat by a stream. He drank water while feeding his horse, looking down at his reflection in the stream.0

His beard had grown coarse once more, and the warrior uniform given to him by the Cui Clan now had several holes in it. Additionally, his once-shiny black hair had now become a dirty gray. When he had left the Cui Clan, he had left a dashing young man on a majestic horse, and others who saw him would immediately think he was some respected young master. Not much time had even passed, yet his appearance had already returned to that of a barbaric brute.0

He had much less fighting to do over the past month after he managed to shake off his pursuers. Moreover, the encounters were far less intense and strenuous than when he had been escorting Cui Yuanyang.0

But this time, he had to travel much farther, which inevitably meant that the battles kept piling up. Furthermore, he was constantly wary of being discovered. He could not afford to engage in guerilla warfare as readily as he used to; this time, he had to do his best to kill the enemies he faced to the last man. Unfortunately, it was easier said than done. From time to time, his enemies greatly outnumbered him, making it ridiculously difficult to make sure that none of them got away.0

This world really is stupid. They always say “a thousand li apart” or “a distance of a thousand li” when things are far apart, but when the hell is it ever an actual thousand li?! Going by the actual calculations, the trip to take Cui Yuanyang home wasn’t more than five hundred li. On the other hand, this trip to...0