Yang Fan finished burning the incense, and Wan Jianyi led him out through another door.
Returning to the small courtyard from earlier, the tea was still warm.
The two sat back on the chairs they had occupied before, and Wan Jianyi added some hot water to the teapot.
"There's something I need to tell you now; something has happened to a few of your friends."
"What happened to them?" Yang Fan put down his cup and asked impatiently.
"They were captured by the Winged Tribe because of the people from the Purple Cloud Sect."
"What!" Yang Fan's eyes widened: "What happened? Why didn't you tell me sooner?"
Seeing Yang Fan's face full of resentment, Wan Jianyi felt helpless: "At the time, you were unconscious, how could we tell you? Later, your injuries weren't healed; what use would it have been to tell you then? Even if I told you now, your injuries have only recovered twenty percent. Can you really go save them?"
