Early the next morning, before the sun had risen, the sky had already taken on the pale white of a fish's belly.
Yet Zhao Tianchen had already arrived outside Fang Hong's courtyard.
The surroundings were deathly quiet. Only the occasional crisp chirp of birds or rustle of insects broke the stillness.
Zhao Tianchen stood there silently, his brows tightly furrowed, his gaze filled with deep worry and unease.
Listening to the unceasing noises and screams coming from Fang Hong's courtyard,
he stared fixedly at the courtyard, as if he wanted to see through those tightly shut gates and discover what exactly was happening inside.
His heartstrings were drawn taut, terrified that something he did not wish to see might happen.
Fang Hong had specifically asked him for a writ before, so naturally, he knew what Fang Hong had spent these past ten days doing.
And precisely because he knew, he was so worried now.
After all, his own son had suffered such a tragic end because of creating a martial art.
He did not want Fang Hong to end up like his son.
Fortunately, when Fang Hong had asked for the writ, he had explained that he only intended to create a Skin Refinement martial art.
He had not been like Zhao Tianchen's son, "aiming too high," trying to ascend to "heaven" in a single step.
Only then had Zhao Tianchen agreed to Fang Hong's request.
Otherwise, he would never have agreed to Fang Hong's idea of creating a martial art.
At that moment, Fang Hong was in the courtyard, repeatedly screaming in agony.
Countless illusory arcs of lightning were constantly coiling around his body, flashing without end.
Under the frenzied flashes and stimulation of that illusory lightning,
the skin across his entire body was visibly cracking, shedding, and falling