A fierce wind blew directly against them, whipping their robes fiercely.
Zhao Xuenyang grabbed Jiang Wang's arm with one hand and headed straight west.
To be fair, leaving aside the matter of capturing him, Zhao Xuenyang was actually quite considerate. He even took the initiative to block the incoming wind for Jiang Wang, wiped the blood below his left eye, and applied some medicinal powder…
He even casually grabbed a short rope and tied up Jiang Wang's unruly long hair.
In Zhao Xuenyang's own words—this way, it looks more spirited.
Although Jiang Wang didn't think there was much point in discussing whether a prisoner looked spirited or not.
"By the way, you're really not suited for wearing black. It clashes with your temperament." Amidst the swift flight, Zhao Xuenyang suddenly said.
Jiang Wang remained silent.
The victor naturally could find joy in idle chatter, but Jiang Wang, bound up like a ball, could not participate.
