"Besides, there was one more thing I didn't tell you. Before Bei Tangsu died, he explicitly said that although Divine Saber Hall was full of outstanding talents, you were the only one besides himself with the potential to master the Eight Demonic Saber Techniques."
What Meng Zhao found hardest to understand was precisely this point. He did not know whether Bei Tangsu truly believed it, or whether, even at death's door, he had wanted to dig a pit for Xue Zihou.
Xue Zihou was certainly talented, but Meng Zhao refused to believe that in the vast Divine Saber Hall, there could not be a second Bei Tangsu or a second Xue Zihou.
Perhaps Bei Tangsu, having already become a saber slave, had truly sensed Xue Zihou's exceptional potential. Or perhaps he knew that becoming a saber slave was a road of no return, so he wanted to drag his old rival down that road with him. In any case, he had no intention of letting Xue Zihou off easy.
Meng Zhao had not embellished anything. What needed to be said, he would not conceal—this matter included.
The moment Xue Zihou heard this, joy bloomed in his heart. He felt as though he had, in the end, finally beaten Bei Tangsu.
Praise carried very different meaning depending on who gave it.
Praise from a stranger was like scratching an itch through one's boot—utterly meaningless. But praise from a sworn enemy was like hearing celestial music, so delightful one forgot the way home.
Now, Xue Zihou became even more certain that the path he would walk in the future was to retrace Bei Tangsu's established route.
The difference was that Bei Tangsu had perished midway, while he would forge onward without pause, advancing with courage and vigor to achieve what Bei Tangsu