In short, the scene was extremely chaotic for a time.
Some of the younger disciples even seemed to have vaguely heard their masters—men who had always kept their distance from women and carried themselves like upright gentlemen—howling in anguish at night.
They did not particularly sympathize with their masters. They merely felt that the joys and sorrows of people were not shared.
Some particularly rebellious disciples even thought that if their masters' wails were paired with background music of drifting snowflakes, they would be even more moving.
On the eve of the wedding, Zhao Xiaoxiang wept bitterly in Li Qingmeng's arms. Li Qingmeng did not cry, but she found it strange. Clearly, she had been there first—so how had someone else swooped in and stolen the prize?!
At the wedding, Zhao Cheng also saw many murderous gazes. Many belonged to celebrated veterans of their respective fields, each and every one more skilled with a sword than he was.
But he was not intimidated in the slightest. So what if their stares were fierce? They were just a pack of defeated dogs!
Time flew by, and in the blink of an eye, a hundred years had passed.
After a hundred years, Qin Honglian was ultimately only a Saint, while Zhao Cheng was only a Sword Master, having failed even to step into the Saint realm.
"Thinking about it carefully, you really were too bold back then. The first time we met, you dared to force your way onto my ship. What would have happened if I hadn't caught you?"
At this point, Qin Honglian's life was nearing its end. Yet she had not aged much; at a glance, she looked no more than a little over forty. Zhao Cheng, on the other hand, appeared somewhat older, like a man in