Little Fire God Chi Huo!

"Interesting..."

Watching the figure drift in through the door—a young man in red robes, sharpness hidden between his brows, with dry yellow hair standing on end like an enraged hedgehog—Ye Qingcang rested his face against his fist and muttered vaguely to himself.

Two others landed alongside the young man.

One was a stern youth with dark skin—not fully black, but a bronze shade like someone who had spent too long under the sun. He held a treasured sword, with two locks of hair hanging down by his temples. His eyes clearly carried defiance, directed at the red-robed youth.

The other had fair skin and looked somewhat like Empty Young Master from some movie, though unlike Empty Young Master, he was obviously full of vitality. Holding a feather fan and wearing a smile that looked false at a glance, he possessed far less bearing than the other two. Or rather, he lacked some of the sharp edges of a proper person.

That was both a strength and a weakness.

Whether one had edges depended on what sort of people one encountered.

Generally speaking, people with sharp edges had a difficult road ahead of them. Human nature itself sought balance. No one liked Jianghu juniors who flaunted their brilliance, because what such juniors loved most was climbing upward by stepping on their seniors' faces. It was equivalent to challenging the seniors' authority, an act of defiance in itself.

But then again, if the world were filled entirely with bootlickers, seniors would not like that either. After all, those who accomplished great things were often people with edges. Such people naturally possessed a certain boldness. Put another way, what seniors wished to see was the waves behind in the Yangtze driving those before them onward, each generation surpassing the last. They hoped their