Entering the Venue, Familiar Faces

By the time they arrived, some people were already gathered in front of a palace, queuing up. Dedicated personnel were inspecting the paper fans used as tokens to prevent outsiders from slipping in.

Meng Zhao saw clearly that several of them seemed to possess only Houtian-level martial arts. He could not help asking in confusion,

"Why are there still Houtian Realm martial artists here? Isn't this supposed to be an Innate gathering?"

Niu Dali shook his head, equally puzzled. He evidently had not expected this situation either, and muttered,

"Who knows what He Liu is thinking? Letting these people in—isn't that just asking for trouble? No strength, no capability, they're only here to watch the excitement and wave flags. Should we just head back?"

He had originally held high hopes for this gathering. He had thought He Liu had both skill and ambition, that he would build something substantial. Yet just before the event began, he discovered that the man had become so hungry he would eat anything—even these weak Houtian chicks had been dragged in. It lowered the whole affair's prestige for no reason, making him want to leave.

There was a saying: dragons did not dwell with snakes. Innate and Houtian were, in truth, like two different social classes. They were not people of the same level to begin with; forcing them together would only make things backfire.

Niu Dali was certainly not the only one who thought this way. As they spoke, they saw an Innate Master holding a paper fan cast a contemptuous glance at several Houtian martial artists in the queue, casually toss his fan onto the ground, and turn to leave.

Yet before long, someone dashed out of the palace and caught up to him. Evidently, there were lookouts outside who had reported the