After pouring out the resentment he had buried in his heart for centuries, the young man finally felt much better.
His talent had actually been quite outstanding among independent cultivators.
There had once been several opportunities for him to obtain great fortuitous encounters.
But in the end, cultivators from those great sects and powerful clans had always swooped in and stolen them from him. He had not even dared to utter a word afterward.
If he said one word too many, it would bring about his death.
He admitted that he had been willing to resort to any means for cultivation. The other independent cultivators were no different.
But if those great sects and powerful clans had not monopolized all the finest blessed lands, grotto-heavens, and cultivation resources—
He would not have ended up like this!
What right did someone with a mouth full of grease have to condemn a hungry person for eating whatever they could find?
"They say that a dying man's words are kind, but apparently that isn't always true. How do you know I came from some great sect or powerful clan?"
Tang Yu asked somewhat angrily.
"Isn't that so? Would an independent cultivator, with nothing better to do, pick on small fry like us? Only people like you, born into great sects, would be bored enough to do something like this and call it tempering your Dao heart. We independent cultivators aren't as delicate as you lot. We're tempering our Dao hearts every moment of every day."
As the young man riding the ox spoke, he coughed up a large mouthful of blood, and his tone grew ever more resentful.
"If you say that, I'll have to accuse you of slander. Let me make this clear beforehand: everything I have achieved today came entirely through