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In Heaven-Rending Province, the guardian of the Bai Family's eldest daughter fell into prolonged silence after receiving the message sent by the master. What did he mean by saying the Bai Family had spent so much money raising so many useless people? Was he taking a jab at him?
He was old—old enough already.
He could no longer remember how many great snows he had seen, nor how many times he had felt the spring breeze brush his face, how many times he had watched willow branches first poke out their buds. He remembered even less how many Sky Prodigies he had seen. Of those prodigies, only a scant few had names he still remembered; nearly all the rest had fallen.
Sky Prodigies were the group with the highest death rate, without exception.
If your aptitude was ordinary, you encountered no great opportunities along the way, possessed no hidden trump cards, and understood yourself clearly—knew exactly how much you weighed, knew whom you could provoke and whom you could not—you would not enter overly dangerous secret realms, would not challenge enemies above your realm, and might not even fight someone at the same cultivation level as yourself.
But if you were a Sky Prodigy—
Everything was completely different. You had countless trump cards, countless opportunities. Those things gave you immense confidence to challenge secret realms of extreme difficulty and fight enemies beyond your realm.
Perhaps you succeeded once, twice, three times. You gained even more opportunities from them, and your confidence swelled ever greater. But eventually, one day, you discovered that your trump cards were not enough to face the disaster before you. That was when a Sky Prodigy fell.
No one else could be blamed.
In truth, unless one's luck was truly abysmal, ninety-nine percent of devastating disasters