Widow Xie looked greatly astonished. She could not understand Meng Zhao's reasoning. They bore each other no grudge, yet he wanted to fight such a terrifying opponent—was that not strange?
This was the difference born of differing identities, positions, and even personalities.
Had it been Shen Tianci, or someone like He Wuji, they would likely have been able to tell that Meng Zhao was speaking the truth rather than making an empty promise.
But in Widow Xie's current circumstances, she did not have many choices. If she believed Meng Zhao, she would have a chance for revenge. If she did not, that chance would be so slim as to be almost nonexistent.
Truth be told, given Widow Xie's present status, position, and wealth, she could have lived an exceedingly comfortable life—better than that of most people—because she had both money and power.
Though money and power were not omnipotent, money could certainly resolve many hardships in life. The Divine Might Army's current shortage of funds and provisions was proof enough.
Yet her unusual experiences, along with her particularly pronounced nature, made it impossible for her to peacefully enjoy life. To her, wealth was not worth a laugh; only hatred could truly set her at ease.
Even if she possessed wealth rivaling that of a nation, if she could never take revenge, then even on the day she died, she would not be able to close her eyes. She would truly die with her eyes wide open.
Moreover, hatred was the sole force that had kept her dragging out a miserable existence until today.
Otherwise, her child had had his bloodline usurped and had been killed; her beloved husband had also been murdered by her enemy; and she herself had even been violated by someone she had once respected and loved