Tang San withdrew his gaze, his fingertips lightly brushing the Spirit Hall token at his waist. His tone was calm, without the slightest ripple. "Let's go. Don't mind him."
Oupai scratched his head and followed Tang San's gaze toward the lone figure at the street corner. Smacking his lips, he said, "You're really not going to take a look? I thought you'd at least go up and mock him a little. The way he looks now is far more pathetic than when he lost at the Soul Fighting Arena."
"Mock him? There's no need." Tang San turned and headed for the stairs, the hem of his black robe cutting a sharp arc through the morning light. "Someone who can't even tell right from wrong, who lets greed lead him around by the nose, isn't worth wasting my breath on."
Gui Mengguan followed behind him and gently shut the private room door, his tone carrying a trace of understanding. "Right now, he must be thinking that we ruined his opportunity, that Spirit Hall killed his 'benefactor,' Yao Wuji. Even if you went up and told him the truth now, he'd only think you were gloating and deliberately humiliating him."
Qian Gujue nodded. "That's simply human nature. They only remember what they lost, never what they nearly lost. They'll only hate us for cutting off their path to defy fate and change their destiny."
"Let them hate us." Tang San did not slow his steps in the slightest. "The Continental Soul Master Tournament two years from now will be the final reckoning. If he's still this stubbornly obsessed by then, there'll be no need for the match to go on."
He said it lightly, but a cold killing intent flashed through his eyes.
Someone who could not even see himself clearly, someone