Within the camp.
Before the Four Cities Grand Competition, everyone's view of An Xuan—or rather, An Jing—had been no more than that of "a troublesome" rival, a wilderness prodigy who had appeared out of nowhere.
The vast majority did not think themselves stronger than An Jing, yet most still possessed a genius's pride, believing they merely lacked a few Opportunities and could, on the whole, still speak with An Jing as equals.
But now—look. Just look.
Everyone present, whether they were rising talents from commoner backgrounds or descendants painstakingly groomed by great aristocratic families; whether ordinary folk without bloodlines or direct descendants with Primordial Spirit Heavenly Venerable Old Ancestors above them.
Whether they were dissatisfied with this world or content with it; whether they bore the blood debt of their parents or had lived lives that were relatively peaceful, happy, tranquil, and warm.
This group of people, originally so unequal that they could never have stood on equal footing, perhaps not even calmly sat down for a conversation, had all become equal and quiet before An Jing.
Huo Qing understood that firsthand.
For instance, sitting beside him right now was Chen Yunfei, a direct descendant of Luofu Grotto-Heaven's Primordial Spirit Heavenly Venerable—who had just quite amiably offered him a bottle of Bigu Pills, without the slightest hint of condescension.
Even setting aside his identity as the son of a Guiyi Army spy, what right did a former gang brat from Danlin Town have to sit on the same bench as someone like that? Wasn't it only because he was An Jing's friend, and they were all in the same boat now?
On the other side, a silver-haired girl was idly chatting with Nian Quan about swordsmanship. This girl, whose long hair carried a metallic sheen, was Shang Yuguang from their