Inside the study, Zhou Gushan had no idea that every move he made was being watched by others. He focused wholeheartedly on cultivation.
Only after a full half-hour did he exhale a breath of turbid air. The breath was powerful and condensed, hanging three feet from his mouth like an arrow without dispersing, a clear sign of the formidable strength of his internal organs.
"Alas, I'm still just a little short. I can clearly feel that I'm about to touch the point where these two martial arts connect and harmonize, yet I keep wandering outside the gate. Where exactly is the problem?"
Zhou Gushan's brow was tightly furrowed. Though he had gained something from this cultivation session—his mind had been refined slightly, and his body strengthened by a minuscule degree—none of it was what he wanted.
The progress was still far too slow, leaving his strength utterly incapable of dealing with the threats soon to come.
Whether the threat came from the Meng Family or the Pudu Cult, both stuck in his throat like fishbones, impossible to ignore.
The Meng Family was still manageable. He had acted with sufficient secrecy and left no traces. They might eventually discover him if they searched hard enough, but that should be impossible in the short term.
The Pudu Cult, on the other hand, was squeezing the Zhou Family ever more ruthlessly. In both word and deed, they treated the Zhou Family as fat pigs to be slaughtered and carved up at will, as meat for the table. That was something he could not accept.
Their past lack of resistance was merely because they had not yet reached that critical point, and because their strength had been insufficient. But if that day truly came, Zhou Gushan would not sit waiting for death. Rather than