Beitang Shu's anger stemmed precisely from this. Of noble status and extraordinary bloodline, an Imperial Scion, he ought to have been among the foremost figures beneath heaven, the object of countless people's worship and yearning. Even if powerful experts wished to pledge themselves, they should have pledged themselves to him.
Yet Meng Zhao's appearance had directly cast him into the abyss. No matter how hard he tried or what he did, aside from his identity as a prince, there was nothing in which he surpassed Meng Zhao.
Thinking carefully, no matter how powerful the Meng Family was, it could not surpass the Beitang Imperial Clan. Those martial world experts and martial artists who forsook Beitang Shu to follow Meng Zhao—what could that prove besides that Beitang Shu was inferior to Meng Zhao?
Thus, he hated Meng Zhao, hated him deeply. Jealousy, resentment, unwillingness, and even a rather affected sense of grievance made up a large part of it.
With everything going against him and his mood soured, Beitang Shu immersed himself in wine and women. Not a day passed without drink or women, and he was showing every sign of sinking into muddleheaded dissipation.
Fortunately, he was merely a prince, not an emperor. Though he indulged in wine and women, Prince Fu's Mansion had no shortage of capable talents. Even with him acting as a hands-off master, it continued to operate smoothly, without the slightest stiffness.
When the Heavenly Demon Palace Lord arrived at Star-Picking Tower and saw Beitang Shu, Prince Fu was alone, holding a wine jug, his chest bared, drunkenly leaning against a coiling-dragon pillar. He gazed down below, his thoughts heavy.
"Little Nine, I never imagined that you, once so high-spirited and full of vigor, would become like this. You have truly disappointed me!"
The Heavenly Demon