A strong wind carried a man and a tiger to a mountain gorge, where the Taoist Riding Tiger looked in the direction where Jiang Li had disappeared, shaking his head with some regret. He patted the head of the tiger beneath him and said, "Tiger brother, you ran too slowly, we couldn't even manage to intercept that fellow Daoist."
The white-foreheaded old tiger rolled a big white eye, shook its head to brush off the Daoist's hand, and its long dragon whiskers fluttered beside its face.
"Shen Hou, with everyone wanting to beat you up, if I didn't run fast, you would have been beaten to death by now," the tiger spoke in a human voice, with a wry tone, "Your reputation stinks to high heavens, it was clearly because they recognized your identity that they decisively fled. It has nothing to do with me."
"I happen to agree with that."
A young Daoist climbed up the cliff, spat out bloody phlegm, and expressed his agreement deeply.
