Zhao Ying looked at Long Chen's retreating back, tears streaming down her face.

Zhao Ying was not familiar with Wu Jian, but the sad atmosphere infected her.

"Go back"

Zhang Qian wiped her tears, looked at the night sky, and sighed helplessly.

Everyone immediately packed up their things and set off to the east.

Long Chen pulled the coffin to Bailang Mountain, and it was almost dawn.

Long Chen drew his sword and pried open the lid. Wu Jian was still sleeping soundly.

"Old Wu, wake up!"

Long Chen yawned and walked all night, feeling terribly sleepy.

"This old Wu likes to sleep in coffins!"

Feng He came over with a smile and stood beside the coffin jokingly.

Wu Jian slowly opened his eyes, stretched and said, "I have been pretending to be sick for so long. I have to cough every night and barely sleep."

Climbing out of the coffin, Wu Jian drank some water, sat on the carriage and yawned.

"Is your stuff ready?"

Long Chen asked Feng He.

Feng He said: "It's been prepared for a long time!"

Feng He took a pair of armor that was the same as Wu Jian's, and a highly imitated nine-ring sword.

Another corpse similar to Wu Jian's was found and put into the coffin.

Hundreds of thousands of people died here, and it would be too easy to find a corpse.

"Old Wu, if you die here today, there will be no one like you in the future."

Feng He teased while throwing things away.

Wu Jian was unhappy when he heard this and cursed: "You're the one who died here."
Chapter completed!