These past few days, before the hundred officials and before everyone else, Ji Wenxiu had always presented herself as a cool, mysterious noble daughter of the imperial house.
Only now could she remove her mask and reveal her truest self.
"Brother Wu-bing, I knew you could do it. Back then, when your strength was so weak, you still rescued me from that dead lecher. Afterward, you defeated powerful enemies again and again."
As she said this, worship shone in Ji Wenxiu's eyes, and even the depths of her gaze glittered faintly.
"I always believed that one day, an unparalleled swordsman would come before me, slash open the ninefold heavens with one stroke of his sword, and save me from this sea of misery. No matter how many hardships and difficulties lay ahead, they would all be split apart at the blade's edge."
"What you described isn't a mortal. It's a Sword Immortal."
"You are."
"I'm not."
Lu Wu-bing suddenly felt a little annoyed. Could it be that everyone with Ji blood had a slightly crazed temperament? He had heard that their family's inherited cultivation art had problems as well.
If they insisted on cultivating it, the final outcome would never be good.
The Ji family's emperors throughout the generations all became indescribably muddleheaded in their later years. Those with a bit of sense would pass down the throne before they completely lost control.
Those without brains would welcome such splendid scenes as fathers and sons suspecting one another, palace showdowns, and the like.
For a dynasty like this to have endured all this time was, in Lu Wu-bing's eyes, truly quite strange.
The common people below were so poor they had to eat grass.
Yet the emperor and his ministers were still making a complete mess of things.
If not