Looking at his beloved son before him, heartbroken and bent wholly on revenge, Huang Feihu was filled with a hundred tangled feelings. For a moment, he was struck dumb, with no answer to give.
Everyone knew King Zhou was brutal, debauched, and cruel, that he slaughtered loyal and good men. Huang Feihu's own younger sister and beloved wife had both perished in Zhaoge, his entire household wronged and disgraced—tragedies visible to the naked eye.
But the secrets of the chessboard, the king's arrangements, the Heavenly Dao's calculations—layer upon layer of shackles bound him. Of all the truth, he could not reveal even half a word.
A thousand bitter reasons could not be spoken. Truth and falsehood, right and wrong, were buried in the depths of his heart. Endless conflict and repression tore savagely at his mind, almost grinding his organs to pieces.
Just as Huang Feihu was trapped in every sort of dilemma, a wildly arrogant curse suddenly came from outside the tent, piercing through the entire camp.
"I heard Huang Feihu has already died here? You defeated remnants, now all turned into turtles hiding in your shells—do you not dare come out of your tents and fight!"
It was Chen Tong!
That arrogant shout abruptly split the stagnant atmosphere. To Huang Feihu, sunk deep in conflict and pain, it was like a ray of dawn piercing the gloom.
There was no need to keep agonizing over the grievances between father and son, no need to struggle over how to comfort his beloved son. The enemy before them was the one and only way to break the situation now.
At the same time, inside the tent, Huang Tianhua shuddered from head to toe and abruptly sprang up from the bed.
His eyes, still red from weeping moments ago, were now