The first to appear was Fan Zeng, bald as a polished egg, the fat on his body rippling like waves. The successor of Tongtian Dao Xiang Yang had spoken of was actually him.
In truth, since ancient times, far too many martial sects and schools had vanished from the land of the Nineteen Provinces. Yet disappearance could be understood in two ways. One meant being utterly erased from heaven and earth, never to exist again.
The other kind of disappearance meant that they still existed, only unknown to the world, having successfully concealed themselves.
And in the common sense, disappearance actually referred to the second kind. The continuation of a lineage was often not complicated; all it took was one disciple, passing the flame onward, and that was enough.
"Indeed, quite perceptive—but it is nothing strange. Tongtian Dao was exterminated by Great Zhou's Founding Emperor, and the sect's accumulated treasures of several centuries were all confiscated. Since Xiang Yang is from the Divine Constable Gate, it is hardly surprising that he knows a thing or two.
"If he truly saw through you and me as clearly as a fire beneath the skin, why would he so readily leave Yong City and throw himself into a dead end? Xiang Yang, am I right?"
After Fan Zeng came Mo Fengnian. With a Pine Pattern Iron Sword on his back, dressed in mulberry-colored round-collared robes with double-sided golden cups embroidered on his sleeves, he stood suspended in midair, his feet treading the wind. His cold, severe voice sounded like a night owl's cry, inspiring immense fear and pressure. He was utterly unlike the composed and amiable man who had discussed matters with Shen Ao and the others that day.
"That is right. Heaven has no bounds, but man's life has an end. Xiang