"Xiaogang, take it easy with the drinking."
Flender frowned from across the table and reached for the jug in Yu Xiaogang's hands, but Yu Xiaogang slapped his hand away.
"Leave me alone!"
Yu Xiaogang roared, his voice hoarse and thick with resentment.
"Flender, do you know? That Lin Qiu... that damn brat!"
"He doesn't understand Martial Souls at all! He doesn't understand theory!"
"He's just a reckless brute who relies on his talent and charges ahead! Why? Why does he get to stand on a high platform and be admired by thousands, while I... I can only be driven out like a stray dog?"
Whenever Yu Xiaogang closed his eyes, the scene before the Pope Palace came flooding back to him.
That young man's haughty gaze, that contempt as if he were looking at an ant—it had cut deep into his sensitive, self-conscious heart.
And then there was Bibi Dong...
The woman who had once loved him dearly had shown him such ruthless indifference for the sake of her adopted son!
"I refuse to accept this! There's nothing wrong with my theory! There are no useless Martial Souls, only useless Soul Masters!"
Yu Xiaogang slumped over the table, clutching his hair in both hands as he murmured in anguish.
Flender sighed and nudged the crystal glasses on the bridge of his nose, a trace of sympathy in his eyes.
He and Yu Xiaogang had been brothers for years. Naturally, he knew how deeply Yu Xiaogang was attached to his convictions.
"Xiaogang, if you refuse to accept it, then prove them wrong."
Flender's voice was low, but his words carried an unusual resolve.
Yu Xiaogang abruptly raised his head and stared at Flender, his eyes unfocused.
"Prove it? How? He's so strong... even a Titled Douluo..."
"He's strong because he's a