The negotiations with the Demon Race went quite smoothly—more smoothly than negotiations with those human forces.
Most of the time, these fellows valued status and bloodline more than strength.
Unless your fist was as big as Qin Yang's.
The reason things had gone so smoothly also had much to do with Little Seventh.
The Dragon Descendants were absolutely the largest force. These bizarre-looking creatures had only one thing in common: they possessed dragon bloodlines.
They were powerful and numerous.
Unless it was some major matter, whatever the Dragon Descendants said, the Demon Race as a whole would basically not object.
Take before, for example, when Little Seventh ripped out the golden dragon's tendons. That was a catastrophe that pierced the heavens. The Dragon Descendants got angry, and the other demons merely followed along and shouted a few slogans.
Otherwise, how could no one have come to kill Little Seventh after all these years?
Of course, whether they had the ability to do so was another matter entirely.
Now that the Dragon Descendants were beaming with delight, and the other demons could receive gifts as well, every one of them was happy beyond measure.
The sea folk in particular practically had the words written across their faces: We had been preparing to defect before, but Little Seventh had aroused public fury. If we openly defected, things would only become impossible to settle.
Only then did Qin Yang come to his senses and recall something crucial.
Little Seventh was a jiao person.
Back then, Little Seventh had been shamelessly dragged back by those powerful sea folk.
That shameless Jiao Emperor had even bestowed upon Little Seventh the title of Little Princess. Though he had never said it outright, this told everyone that he was Little Seventh's father.
Looking back at the sea