A small grove.
He hurried onward.
Xiang Yuan plunged headfirst onto the forest path. It was the very trail where the County Yamen constables had set up defenses that night. He knew the area well; so long as it was not dark, he would never lose his way.
Following the main group made too large a target and left too many traces along the way. It was better to travel alone and light-footed.
After this battle, he had gained a comprehensive understanding of these young martial heroes. They were newborn calves unafraid of tigers—beyond words, and infinitely close to being pig teammates.
They would need another three to five years of growth before they could be considered passable.
That was probably why every sect sent its disciples out into the martial world. Shutting oneself away to build a cart only bred a pack of lofty-eyed, low-skilled trash. Only by sifting through the great waves for sand could one inherit the mantle and be entrusted with heavy responsibility.
Of course, some stepped into the martial world and scored full marks right away—Mingzhu, for instance. Without that great monk, the young heroes gathered were a lump of shit, scattered were splatters across the sky. Even dung beetles would shake their heads at the sight.
As Xiang Yuan walked, he pondered. If there was ever another group tower-pushing operation like this, he could not just charge in on a whim. Unless the numbers were kept lean, they should let him farm in the wild alone.
They had rushed in all at once and scattered in a clamor. It was simply too chaotic.
Xiang Yuan ran along the bank of the River of Wrath. Another three to five li, and he would reach the main road before Yulin Academy. His heart settled somewhat.
He