The unpredictability of fate truly gave one cause for reflection.
Among the young disciples of their generation back then, Wang Zibai had been the strongest. He had stopped at nothing for cultivation resources and had been highly regarded by the sect elders. Yet not only had he failed to grow as they had expected, even the grass on his grave had probably grown taller than anyone knew.
Meanwhile, he—the utterly ordinary nobody who had muddled through at the edge of the battlefield, fishing in troubled waters and fleeing at the first sign of danger—had survived to the very end.
What was more, because he had thrown a concealed dart from over a hundred zhang away back then, he had actually become the "legendary figure" in other people's mouths who had once crossed hands with that existence.
Recalling the past,
Steward Wu could not help feeling a trace of emotion from the bottom of his heart.
The story sounded long, as though a great deal of time had passed.
But in reality, it had been no more than a dozen years.
Ten years.
Yet that person had already reached the pinnacle of the Southern Heaven Domain Martial Dao cultivation world, becoming famous throughout the land and attaining a level Steward Wu could only look up to even after exhausting his entire life.
As for himself, he had merely managed to squeeze into the sect system, relying on the reputation of that supposed battle record to secure a steward's position and retire early.
Even though he had long been fully aware of his own aptitude,
and knew that he could not compare with an existence of that heaven-defying caliber, Steward Wu still could not help feeling a faint bitterness in his heart.
There was nothing he could do. After all, they had