Jiang Zhao's thoughts were still those of the Literary Emperor; the transformation had not succeeded. He would not become as extreme as Jiang Wu.
Moreover, Lin Ziqing and Jiang Zhao had long since reached some sort of agreement. It seemed they had anticipated a scene like this from the very beginning.
Father and son, emperor and emperor—two sovereigns from different eras, separated by time and space, collided in midair.
Seven Dragon Literary Rhythm transformed into a colossal sword that pierced the heavens, while the true intent of the Literary Path swept across the sky.
Lin Heng wanted to step forward and help. He believed that with his strength, working alongside Jiang Zhao, they could surely kill Jiang Wu on the spot.
Yet just as he tried to intervene, an invisible force blocked him outside.
It was precisely the Literary Fortune Boundary Jiang Zhao had laid down. He did not want anyone interfering.
"Father-in-law, what do you mean by this?" Lin Heng asked in confusion.
"Brat, even though you're a bastard, I don't think much of you, you mountain pig."
"But now is not the time for you to risk your life.
"This is a debt owed by our Jiang family. Naturally, it will be repaid by the Jiang family."
Lin Heng was subtly jabbed at by his father-in-law again, yet he did not get angry. Instead, he heard a note of grim resolve in his words.
At the center of the battlefield, Jiang Zhao's body had already begun to crack apart. Dark-golden light surged from the fissures on his skin, and his face rapidly aged. From the appearance of a sixteen- or seventeen-year-old youth, he became a young man in his twenties in the blink of an eye, then turned into a middle-aged man.
His face continued to age, but