Meng Zhao had originally been his greatest rival, the hurdle hardest to cross. Yet now, after fighting the Heavenly Demon Palace Lord, he had been beaten into grave injury. It was not that his martial path had been severed forever, but for a short time, he should be unable to stir up any more storms.
Beitang Shu was a man of deep schemes. He had long been calculating in his heart, intending to seize this once-in-a-thousand-years opportunity to cut through the tangled mess with a sharp blade and establish supremacy over the north, thus creating an accomplished fact. Even if Meng Zhao recovered his martial arts in the future, even if he possessed Divine Demonic Power, it would be difficult for him to defy the tide of the times.
Of course, accomplishing this would certainly be exceedingly difficult.
First, the power in his hands had to be strong enough—sharp enough to serve as the blade in his grasp, clearing thorns and brambles for him and carving out a glorious realm.
Second, Meng Zhao's wings had to be clipped. For instance, the Southern An Meng Family, and the Tan Family of Yanzhou, which had formed a marriage alliance with him. He did not necessarily need to wipe out those two forces outright, but he had to make the proper arrangements—sowing discord, severing the ties between them—before an effective encirclement could be formed.
Third, and this was equally important, when necessary, he had to seek help from the Beitang Imperial Clan and his Imperial Father, Beitang Sheng.
Beitang Shu rubbed the crushed purple flower between his fingers, his gaze deep and still as water, his thoughts unfathomably sinister.
All this was easier said than done. The first step was to bring Lei Wanche into step with him, so they could join forces