Martial Arts Tournament.
Generally speaking, the Martial Arts Tournament was a grand event.
Many prestigious sects and schools would come to participate. Even wandering martial artists would come to witness the tournament's splendor.
Even ordinary people who knew nothing about martial arts would mingle among the crowd to watch the excitement, or sell snacks outside to earn some extra money.
But this time was different.
There were plenty of people who had come to Shaolin for the Martial Arts Tournament, but not the slightest sound of commotion could be heard. They either rode horses or arrived at the gates of Western Shaolin Temple in carriages. Then they got down, silently greeted the welcoming monks, and walked inside. There was no unnecessary small talk or idle chatter.
Solemn, somber, silent.
The enormous Martial Arts Arena of Western Shaolin Temple was packed with people. There were men and women, old and young. They came from different places, different sects, different gangs, and different families.
Their identities varied as well: children, spouses, and parents.
Yet their attire was astonishingly uniform.
Everyone had a strip of white cloth tied around their head and black gauze wrapped around their sleeves. Every single person was dressed that way, whether they were elderly men over fifty or toddlers barely able to speak. Their eyes were bloodshot, and they stood silently in the Martial Arts Arena. It looked as if they had not come to attend a Martial Arts Tournament, but a funeral.
Li Xunhuan stood among the crowd, looking utterly dejected.
Five days ago, he had finally been released from prison—after he delivered Long Xiaoyun's corpse back to the Long Family, he had been locked up.
Until Long Xiaoyun released him five days ago and asked only one thing of him.
Avenge his dead son.
Li Xunhuan