Mei Meng smiled, a strange look rising in her eyes.
"You aren't afraid you'll lose your life watching the spectacle?"
The burly man looked utterly unbothered, like a dead pig that feared no boiling water. He replied with carefree ease, "Have you ever seen a Martial Gall Warrior afraid of death? From the very first day they set foot on the path of martial arts, Martial Gall Warriors should have accepted that they might not meet a good end. If you're afraid of dying, don't take a path where you keep your head tucked into your belt. This old man dares watch Zheng Qiao's spectacle. Why would I fear watching yours, Mei Jinghe?"
Mei Meng: "..."
At first listen, it didn't sound like there was anything wrong with that.
But really, which Martial Gall Warrior had ever died watching a spectacle? Dying while watching a show and dying in pursuit of martial arts—could those possibly be the same?
The burly man leaned back and folded his arms across his chest.
He looked rather shamelessly carefree. "Only young people like you fret over how they're going to die. In my eyes, whether a common man dies, a king dies, someone dies for the greater good of all under Heaven, or someone chokes to death on a drink of water, death is death. There's no high or low in it. If there's anything in this world that's absolutely fair, it's death! Why can't I die watching a spectacle?"
Were generals who died on the battlefield somehow nobler than he was?
He could die however he liked. What business was it of anyone else to pass judgment?
Mei Meng: "..."
She looked helplessly at the brazen burly man, rubbed her aching temples, then closed her eyes and analyzed every detail in her mind,