The Dragon Saint was aggressive and stern, his words sharp and cutting. As a Great Sage, he was one of the Supreme Beings in the Six Realms, a figure who, upon entering the Heavenly Realm, would rank only beneath the Three Pure Ones and Four Emperors. Yet the three present each reacted differently: Di Ting scoffed, the young Daoist lowered his eyes, and the gentle young man froze for a moment before thinking it over and bringing over another cup of tea.
The young man, an artifact spirit, wore a gentle expression and said sincerely:
"It has patchouli, eupatorium, honeysuckle, and licorice in it."
"It can clear toxins and heat, and get rid of bad breath."
The Dragon Saint's eyes narrowed slightly.
The young Daoist spoke calmly. "There's no need to keep making empty threats, Dragon Saint."
"What truly determines whether someone is an [Emperor] is the hearts and the momentum of all living beings. The so-called imperial seal is merely a token. I imagine the dignified Dragon Saint can see that much. Or has this branch, so far removed from the Ancestral Vein, really fallen so far?"
His tone was calm, yet the Dragon Saint faltered. If he insisted he disagreed, wouldn't that prove the young Daoist's point—that his branch was inferior to the Ancestral Vein? For a race as proud as the Dragon race, which had been so since ancient times, he absolutely could not concede such a thing. He could only say coldly, "Your words are as sharp as a sword."
The young Daoist smiled and invited him to sit. Di Ting's voice sounded in Qi WuHuo's heart.
Though he was a Great Sage, as long as Di Ting didn't probe the deepest parts of someone's soul, no one but the Three Pure Ones and Four Emperors