In this world, it has never been about who has the bigger fist, but rather who is able to speak the loudest.
Yet, a strong fist can silence the voices of others, and even the faintest whisper can echo through the air.
An old man and a middle-aged man walked through a small courtyard gate, continuing onward without the need for words or gestures.
They left the school staff quarters, passed by the cafeteria, crossed the playground, and finally reached the school gate where they stopped.
Lin Fuan looked at his disciple, while Chen Shoumen glanced at his master.
Though they shared no blood ties, their decades-long master-disciple relationship surpassed that of father and son.
Yet the unspoken understanding that existed between them was deeper than ever before.
“Qin Li,” Chen Shoumen murmured.
"Dragon King," Lin Fuan replied silently.
Chen Shoumen had witnessed firsthand the man who tended to flower beds at the mouth of the Long River, bleeding a hundred-meter-long corpse centipede.
The mixture of red, black, yellow, and purple blood splashed across both banks, which have since seen an abundance of lush flowers, prompting the locals to build a riverside park there.
Back then, Chen Shoumen was still young, full of spirit under the blazing sun, yet he encountered the true essence of fear.