When Meng Zhao heard Zhen Cheng say this, he could not tell whether he felt joy or sorrow. He asked again,
"Am I really that formidable, that even the Great Emperor sees me as a thorn in his eye and a barb in his flesh?"
Others did not know this body's origins, but how could he himself not know?
What noble son of the Meng Family, what Lord of the Northern Meng Dragon King—it was all utter nonsense.
The original owner had merely been a beggar begging on the streets, the sort who had nearly starved or frozen to death. Yet now he had become a grave concern to the most supreme and exalted person in the world, treated with such solemn caution. Even after living two lives, Meng Zhao felt his mind sway in a daze.
Zhen Cheng's expression turned serious. He glanced at Meng Zhao and said solemnly,
"Dragon King Meng, your rise truly was an accident. I fear no one in the world ever imagined that ten years at Ci'en Temple would produce a peerless prodigy like you, one who could stand shoulder to shoulder with Shen Tianci. If the Great Emperor had known you possessed such abilities today, he likely would not have allowed you to return to Nan'an."
This was merely the limit of Zhen Cheng's knowledge. Beitang Sheng knew Meng Zhao's origins and background like the back of his hand, and he knew even better that the real Meng Zhao had been nowhere near as formidable as this false Meng Zhao. If he truly could foresee the future, how could he have sat by and watched Meng Zhao grow so powerful?
"Forget it. Everything I have today came only after I poured every last thing I had into it. I cannot suppress my nature