"Master, let me ask you this: if, in the future, the Divine Continent falls into turmoil and its mountains and rivers are shattered, and there are two people capable of restoring the realm and remaking heaven and earth—the Pudu Cult and I, Meng Zhao—which do you think has the greater chance?"
The middle-aged monk frowned slightly. Though he was unwilling to admit it, he had to respect the facts. Compared with the Pudu Cult, Meng Zhao indeed possessed enormous advantages and potential, and would find it easier to draw others into his service. But he could not say so, and could only reply,
"Half and half, I suppose. Dragon King Meng has a good background, high martial prowess, and considerable strength. But the Pudu Cult also has many followers and ties to quite a few forces. It is difficult to say whose chances are greater. Only a true contest can determine who stands above the other."
"Haha, Master, those words are not true. By taking history as a mirror, one may know the rise and fall of dynasties. Since ancient times, there has never been a precedent of a religious sect seizing the realm. Thus, the Pudu Cult's best possible outcome would merely be to become the Taiping Dao of the late Han: raising the curtain on Great Yong's downfall, only for its vast bulk to be carved up by the many powerhouses contending for the Divine Continent, becoming the foundation upon which a true king rises. Nothing more.
"Though Meng may be untalented, I am still born of the Meng Family, a noble clan's son by nature. I hold great power, bear peerless divine arts, maneuver freely in every direction, look down upon the world, and have followers gathering like clouds. From every angle, I surpass the Pudu Cult.