Wan Qing now regretted it was too late.
She gritted her teeth, got up, and took out the medical kit, "Let's deal with the wounds first; we'll talk when Master Mu arrives."
Fu Yuxing nodded, sat down by the bed, and let Wan Qing treat his wounds as best as she could.
Elsewhere.
In the night.
An old man dressed in traditional Tang attire, holding a string of prayer beads, walked out of an alley and solemnly got into a car, informing the driver of the Fu Family's address.
Once in the car, his expression was still not good; he kept fiddling with the prayer beads in his hands, concealing his unease.
He was Master Mu.
Receiving Fu Yuxing's phone call, he had felt that something wasn't quite right.
His formations, although not exquisitely matchless, were definitely adequate in today's world.
In theory, there shouldn't have been any trouble.
But Fu Yuxing's sudden call couldn't have been without reason.