Tang Chuqing understood the meaning of these words well. That was why he didn’t say anything else, only reaching out a hand, grabbing a wooden carrying pole leaning against a corner.

This wooden pole was previously used to bring things from small boats ashore, now casually thrown to this corner.

Tang Chuqing grabbed this slightly damp carrying pole, his soul force rapidly pouring out from between his palm and fingers. As it moved along this pole’s surface, the heat that was produced from the friction quickly set it on fire.

He held this burning pole, pressing it against his broken arm.

Waves of smoke accompanied zi zi sounds, surging from his broken arm’s injury.

By using this method, he could seal up his own injury a bit better. At that time, when he rapidly used soul force, the blood flowing out from his injury would be a bit less.

Shentu Nian and the white clothed swords master didn’t stop Tang Chuqing from doing these things.

Only when Tang Chuqing lowered the bamboo pole in his hands, did the white clothed sword master look at him, nodding slightly, and then drew his sword.

A burst of loud sword cries suddenly sounded in the rainy night. A thin faint green...

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