Previously, Zhao Yi calling Li Zhuiyuan “ancestor” had been just a teasing tone.
But ever since the last of Zhao Wuyang’s lingering spirit was inherited by Li Zhuiyuan, that teasing had grown a kind of doctrinal weight.
Every time sides are taken, it’s a new round of choices over利益—over who gets what.
When benefit and sentiment are placed on opposite ends of the scale, it becomes a test of human nature.
Zhao Yi was fortunate.
He treasured the little bond he had with the Li family, and the Li fellow never begrudged him in matters of gain.
Between the young master of the Four Xuan Gates and Li Zhuiyuan, which way to choose—
Every second of hesitation was disrespect to the crack between life and death.
Liang Yan’s flexible sword cut through the air with a sharp whistle; Liang Li’s dagger blurred in the heat.
Both of them dove down with lightning speed.
The four from the Four Xuan Gates all felt a violent life-and-death pressure at once.
These were the heavyweights of the martial world—teams formed by major forces.
If this had been any other group, they would have been staring death in the face, necks exposed to the slaughter.
Yet these four still struggled, showing what true foundation meant.
Crack.