"Nonsense!" Zhang Xiaohao rolled his eyes.
"Brother Zhang, what's wrong?" the White-clothed Young Master asked, puzzled.
"I'm talking about this hindsight—is it possible to come any slower? Couldn't you have notified me beforehand?" Zhang Xiaohao said irritably.
"Haha... We cultivators are supposed to defy the heavens and seize our fate from the skies! Brother Zhang, forgive my bluntness, but if I can help you once, what about the second or third time if such situations arise again? What would you do then? Just sit and wait for death?" the White-clothed Young Master said earnestly.
"Bah! Don't lecture me on morality; your cultivation is too shallow! Do I not know you? The minute you pucker up, I know exactly what kind of fart you're going to let fly! Is it because all your attention was taken up by that Japanese woman named Shuixian, leaving no time even to make a phone call to me?" Zhang Xiaohao teased.
