The dust settled.
Lian Feihong let out a breath, raised his wine cup, and drained it in one gulp. He did not forget to remind Hou, "Drink with us."
Hou smiled faintly, covered the cup with a sleeve, and lifted it to brush against her lips.
Zhou Mou had played the fisherman behind the snipe and clam, striking while Hou, Zhou You, and Dongfang Da Qian were locked in a brutal, inseparable battle. With one move, he pierced through the bodies of two great Heavenly Grandmasters. It was a splendid result.
Yet even more terrifying were Dongfang Da Qian's words: the power of a Martial Saint.
Everyone's gazes instantly shifted from Zhou You and Dongfang Da Qian to Zhou Mou. This fellow was actually... a Martial Saint.
Impossible. The former commander of the imperial guards was no stranger to them. There was something deeply suspicious about his background. Disloyal as a minister, he was the sort of man who bent with the wind.
Most grandmasters of the aristocratic houses looked down on the so-called Zhonglang Zhou Clan, because it was an artificially made lineage. Even its members had been "manufactured."
Zhou Mou, outstanding though he was, would have been no different from those lone-wolf individual grandmasters without a Sealed Lord's favor.
But the scene before them overturned the understanding of countless aristocratic grandmasters. Zhou Mou had concealed his strength, then launched a challenge and taken down the two most dazzling young Heavenly Grandmasters of the age.
So he was the one who had hidden himself deepest—the ultimate boss who laughed last.
A cool wind swept over the Immortal Dew Gathering Terrace. The former blazing heat vanished without a trace, signaling that the effect of Dongfang Da Qian's Martial Saint divine weapon had faded. His curtain was about to fall.
When