"Now that it has come to this, is there anything you wish to say?" Armored and imposing in his divine martial majesty, Ying Jianghong asked with his hands behind his back.
Not long ago, his Dao body had offered loyalty to the Son of Heaven of Jing in the Central Hall.
His Dharma body had remained stationed at River Viewing Terrace, guarding the last powerhouse of the Long River Dragon Palace—
Fuyunqin, Chief Steward of the Yellow River.
Tragically, aside from those old Aquatic Race monsters who had vanished long ago, dead or alive unknown, Fuyunqin seemed to be the Aquatic Race's last supreme powerhouse.
At the very least, he was the only one still active before the public eye, known to all.
Yet this "activity before the public eye" amounted to no more than showing his face during each Yellow River flood season, serving much the same purpose as the Six Friends of Jingtian once had.
Fuyunqin said nothing.
He was suspended spread-eagled from an ancient torture rack streaked with blood, except his head hung limply.
That was his helplessly drooping head.
In his youth, he too had wanted to hold his head high and chest proud. Later, he discovered that "young hero" and "spirited ambition" were words meant only for humans. They had nothing to do with the Aquatic Race.
His head had been unable to rise for many years.
Even though he could be counted among the greatest geniuses.
At this moment, his long hair hung downward from his head, spreading like withered grass.
When grass and trees hang down, a lifetime bears regrets.
Even his vitality seemed to be quietly dissipating amid that clump of dead grass.
Ying Jianghong said for no apparent reason, "We discussed it with the Sea Race. We offered to exchange you