There were countless roads to choose from. Only by choosing the right one and persevering without wavering could one wait for the moment when the fruit was harvested.
Given the martial arts and martial realm Meng Zhao had displayed, it was not as though he lacked suitable cultivation techniques. Yet his options were surely limited. Compared to the vast ocean of Dragon Dao Martial Arts, which were extraordinarily suited to him, they would seem somewhat meager.
Thus, Long Feng had thought of using the Dragon Clan's rich foundation, accumulated over generation after generation, to lure Meng Zhao into the Dragon Clan Ancestral Land. There, powerful experts gathered like clouds and masters fell like rain, with the clan's many reserves bolstering them. Once Meng Zhao went there, even if he had cultivated to the realm of a true dragon, he would still be skinned and stripped to the bone.
Of course, the old fogeys of the Dragon Clan would most likely not drain the pond to catch the fish. With such a once-in-a-thousand-years specimen appearing before them, they certainly would not squander Heaven's gifts. Treating him as a breeding stallion, a research subject, or a source of bloodletting to produce an endless stream of benefits—that was what those old fogeys would do.
He, on the other hand, was different. He had not thought of bringing any great benefit to the Dragon Clan. So long as it could elevate him alone, Meng Zhao's value would be immeasurable, and his bloodline would not be wasted.
Of course, there might be other possibilities. For instance, if Meng Zhao displayed his worth, as well as his submission and sense of belonging toward the Dragon Clan, there was still a slight possibility that he would be absorbed into the clan and become a clansman of the