Amid Chongxuan Sheng's unrestrained laughter, Zhang Weiyu's face darkened like still water.
"Are you having fun at my expense?" he asked from on high. "You're telling me this dog-shit combination is for pill refining?"
Chongxuan Sheng stopped laughing.
"No, it's not dog shit..." Zhang Hai muttered with his head lowered. "I don't have much money. These things are cheap... I studied many ratios. Their properties go together very well..."
Though terrified, he still tried hard to defend himself, his voice nearly taking on a sob. "You can look at my pill-refining pot. I was just a little bit away from succeeding... Really!"
His state was truly baffling.
He was, after all, a transcendent cultivator. One harsh word and he was about to cry—what kind of path was he cultivating, what kind of mortal was he transcending?
Where was his will? How could his temperament be so weak?
No one could understand him.
Not even Dugu Xiao, who had worked with him for so long, could understand this frail side of him at all.
Not even Jiang Wang, who had kept him around, had done so for any particular reason, nor did he think Zhang Hai was of any use.
Trash would never be understood.
Zhang Hai himself understood this very clearly.
He knew that he was trash.
Not the kind of genius Xiang Qian was, who had made being trash his life's ambition. He was the real kind of trash—someone who could never succeed, no matter how hard he worked or how much he gave.
This was not the first time his painstaking work had been dismissed as dog shit.
Nor was public humiliation anything rare.
But today, at this very moment when even the peerless Prodigy Jiang Wang was tossed amid wind and rain, he did not know why,