Chen Ping suddenly stopped, and Jiang Xuelan almost bumped into his back.
“What’s wrong?” she asked in a low voice.
Chen Ping did not answer immediately, but closed his eyes and spread his divine sense in all directions.
After about ten breaths, he opened his eyes, a complex emotion flashing in his purple eyes.
“There’s the aura of demonic cultivators,” he said. “They’re about twenty miles ahead, and there’s more than one, at least a dozen.”
Jiang Xuelan’s hand rested on the hilt of her sword. “Were they the same group from yesterday?”
“no.”
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