"Master?!"
"Master—"
Seeing Ji Wuzhou suddenly drift off, as if contemplating the philosophies of life, Xiang Yuan cupped his hands into a giant megaphone and shouted loudly into his ear.
His voice was mournful, carrying a hint of a sob, drawing Xiao He to poke his head over the courtyard wall. He thought Ji Wuzhou had passed away.
As long as there was food, Xiao He could sit at any table!
Ji Wuzhou snapped out of his thoughts, and the look he gave Xiang Yuan was exceptionally disdainful. First, his disciple had too many holes in him—so many schemes were aimed right at his master. Second, the disciple had no respect whatsoever for his teacher. So what if he was a nominal disciple? His master wasn't nominal! What kind of behavior was all this shouting and yelling?
Xiang Yuan's gaze was equally disdainful. The two times he had seen Ji Wuzhou, the latter had been wallowing in the depths of self-abandonment and dejection. He had none of Que Xin's carefree elegance in wandering the world, nor King Frieza's lofty, overbearing majesty.
There were only names given wrong, never nicknames bestowed wrong. Broken Sampan truly lived up to its name.
The two stared each other down for a moment. Ji Wuzhou was the first to concede. His track record was simply too poor. He had finally managed to pull himself together, only to sink at lightspeed again, and in the end even needed his disciple to save the day. It was hard for him to put on the imposing dignity expected of a master before Xiang Yuan.
I'll pull myself together today and show you!
"Master, how do we leave this place? Go on, then!"
"The exit is over there."
Ji Wuzhou held two fingers together like a sword and pointed