"Thanks, I've been doing great lately! Even an idiot could tell!" Qin Fen didn't back down. He went straight for the throat.
Wenchang really was no match for Big Chef in a war of words. At that remark, his ice-cold heart ached even more. Bastard, you're insulting me!
Matchmaker Yue couldn't hold back a snort of laughter. Taibai had long since stopped taking pleasure in Wenchang's misfortune. This whole affair had already rotted into a pile of shit. Whether the two kept fighting or not, it would stink either way.
Our founding master is so funny. That was what all the children thought.
Wenchang's face went from red to black, and the anger in his heart burned hotter and hotter. There was almost no chance of reconciliation between them. Yet at this point, Wenchang began to calm down. Becoming an Imperial Lord and the second-ranking figure of the Confucian School was no simple feat. Those scholars of ancient times were no fools; at the very least, they had all pursued official rank and distinction.
That indirectly proved one thing: they weren't stupid. They all had a chance of becoming officials, which made it even clearer that they weren't fools. And Wenchang was an Imperial Lord, no less.
The thousand-year-old veteran slowly suppressed his anger. He understood one thing: clashing head-on with Qin Fen now would do him no good. No, this was no longer a matter of weighing gains against losses. He simply had no chance of winning. His rank put him at an inherent disadvantage, and in influence and divine office, he couldn't even compare.
Aside from their personal strength, the easiest way to determine a winner between Appointed Orthodox Deities was to compare their offices. The greater the divine office, the stronger the deity, because the Heavenly Dao