Hostile light flashed in Kong Weishan's eyes, and in the eyes of every scholar behind him.
Like a pack of enraged wolves, they feared nothing.
Yan Yukong smiled, as though he had encountered an old friend he had not seen in years at a Literary Assembly. Perhaps the smile was not so warm, not so familiar, and even carried a trace of strangeness.
Yet such a smile would forever be reserved only for friends.
"Among you are my friends," Yan Yukong said gently, smiling gently and looking upon them gently.
The procession of several hundred thousand people halted in an instant, then continued forward, only a little more slowly.
It could not be seen, but the heart could feel it.
The hostility of hundreds of thousands dissolved in an instant.
"Behind me, too, are my friends."
Though several hundred thousand people walked across the vast plaza, it suddenly fell utterly silent.
Still wearing that gentle smile, Yan Yukong continued, "Among you are friends who studied with me in the blazing summer, wiping away our sweat; friends who attended Literary Assemblies amid halls full of lights; friends with whom I had never exchanged a word, yet who smiled at me from afar before continuing the fight; and even friends I had never met, but whose names made my heart beat just a little faster than usual when I saw them. Perhaps you ate wheat noodles while I preferred rice; perhaps you liked speaking with an -r curl while I could barely roll my tongue; you liked silk while I wore only cotton; perhaps you cultivated the School of War while I focused on the Confucian School. Perhaps one day, you might wish for nothing more than my death. But I believe that my friends would not plunge their swords into my