Li Hao frowned slightly. He remembered telling Xue Er that she didn’t need to help him invite his master down from the mountain to support him. It was pointless.
After eight years apart, Jian Wudao had once again stepped into this courtyard. As soon as he entered, he saw a young man lounging in an armchair, enjoying the sun, looking quite at ease. Li Hao had thought such a talented young man would be busy practicing all the time, but here he was, so relaxed. Perhaps it was normal to take a break before a big battle.
Behind Jian Wudao were four figures, all his disciples—three men and one woman. The one with the highest cultivation had already reached the third level of immortality. The four of them were also sizing up Li Hao, their eyes filled with surprise and curiosity.
“Brother Hao,” Bian Ruxue ran over, her smile bright. “I invited my master down from the mountain.”
She interrupted his peaceful moment, but Li Hao couldn’t be harsh with her good intentions. He stood up, tossed aside his poetry book, and watched as the Sword Saint approached, letting out a sigh in his heart. He had taken the little tail away, but it was he who had let her go. The one who truly parted ways with him was the little tail herself. So, who could he blame?