Zhang Chen glanced at the table laden with dishes. It was clear Wang Biao had put a great deal of thought into it.
Zhang Chen picked up his chopsticks, speared a lion's head meatball, and popped it into his mouth. He chewed leisurely before speaking beneath Wang Biao's tense gaze. "The lion's head is fried well. Sit down and eat with me."
"How could a disciple presume to sit in Your presence?" Wang Biao said ingratiatingly, hurriedly pouring Zhang Chen a drink.
As for why Zhang Chen was not afraid that Wang Biao might resort to force or temptation, it was because he was completely certain that he could kill Wang Biao before Wang Biao made a move. And after the display he had put on last night, he believed that unless Wang Biao truly was a fool, he would never dare lay a hand on him.
Zhang Chen finished his meal at an unhurried pace, then looked at Wang Biao. Accepting the tea Wang Biao offered, he asked, "What level are the strongest experts in the Martial World at these days?"
"The strongest have reached Martial Dao Divine Insight! The Martial Dao era has already declined. With the emergence of machine guns and cannons, no matter how high one's martial arts are, it is difficult to make a name for oneself. Even if you trained painstakingly for decades without a single day's break, even if you reached the point where you sensed the cicada before the autumn wind stirred, ten guns pointed at you would still be enough to turn you into a sieve. The Martial World is declining now, and fewer and fewer people are willing to practice martial arts diligently." Wang Biao's voice was full of melancholy.
Ten years of martial arts training could not compare to