"Chief Fang, may I ask how you feel about your current fame? Are you proud of it?"
"Chief Fang, what do you think is the most interesting thing in the martial world?"
"Chief Fang..."
Everyone, including Shan Zhang Gao Qingyu, had seen Fang Che's quiet sigh just now, and they sighed along with him in their hearts.
It was precisely because they understood what Fang Che was sighing about that they empathized so deeply.
The elders had painstakingly tried to teach the younger generation everything they knew, practically wanting to cut open their own hearts and hand them over, hoping to spare them some detours and teach them a few lessons.
But young people always thought they were talking nonsense.
Not even worth a fart!
What interested them was always impractical fantasy and romance that did not exist anywhere in the world.
They only ever saw the splendor of the successful in the martial world, never the bleached bones scattered everywhere. Even when they saw them, they never believed those bones would become their future.
Their future was supposed to be one of flowers embroidered upon brocade and oil boiling over blazing flames!
The martial world—that was poetry and distant horizons, that was beauty in abundance, that was glory and splendor.
How could such glorious lives and beautiful bodies ever become dry bones?
Sure enough, the students' questions that followed turned the Martial Academy leaders' worries into reality.
Fang Che, however, did not feel there was anything wrong. He patiently, wittily, and humorously answered the students' questions.
He had said everything that needed saying and given every warning that needed giving. As for what happened afterward, what did it have to do with him? Good advice was wasted on those bent on dying!
As the young people often said: Even