The Relentless Holy Angel

Such talent, such strength, such potential—at any academy, he should have been a treasure cherished in the palm of their hand.

But what about Cai Yue'er?

What she saw was not Zhong Shenxiu's talent, strength, or potential. What she saw was his attitude, his gaze, and the aura around him when he stood there that made her uncomfortable.

Wu Zhangkong shook his head, his lake-blue hair drifting softly behind him. The corners of his lips lifted slightly, revealing a confident smile.

"He won't. If Master truly knew I said those things, he definitely wouldn't be angry."

His voice was calm, yet his tone carried a certainty as firm as though he were simply stating a fact.

Only after Wu Zhangkong truly became a teacher did he understand the anxious thoughts Zhuo Shi must have felt when he saw him sink into despair and self-destruction after Long Bing's death.

The pain of watching his student fall into the mire while being powerless to help, the helplessness of trying to pull him up only to be pushed away time and again, and the joy of seeing him finally emerge from it—joy even greater than the student's own.

He understood now.

But he had understood too late.

His master had grown old. There was more white in his hair, more weariness in his face.

As he spoke, Wu Zhangkong picked up his chopsticks and placed several pieces of meat onto Zhong Shenxiu's plate. His movements were gentle and steady; the meat rested securely between the chopsticks and landed on the plate without splashing a drop of sauce. He set the chopsticks down and looked at Zhong Shenxiu, his dark green eyes filled with tenderness.

"Eat. When you leave, just remember to tell your teacher."

Zhong Shenxiu looked at the meat on his plate