Chu Hong stared at Huo Hai with a crazed expression, the longsword in his hand trembling without pause. Huo Hai knew it was because of his excitement. Killing someone even more talented than himself had utterly worked Chu Hong into a frenzy.
"Ha ha ha ha! Why aren't you begging for mercy? Beg! Perhaps I can let you die a little more slowly. What a pity—turning a genius into a cripple would have been even more entertaining. But in a place like this, it is more reassuring for you to die. Kneel and beg for mercy! I can let you die more quickly." Chu Hong shouted arrogantly at Huo Hai.
Looking at Chu Hong, Huo Hai suddenly found it all exceedingly dull. "Has no one ever told you that you look like a clown?"
Hearing Huo Hai's words, Chu Hong's voice abruptly stopped. Then he looked at Huo Hai as if he were looking at a dead man. "A clown? Ha ha ha ha! You actually dare say I look like a clown. That's right, I have felt that way myself."
"You know, I am a Rogue Cultivator. Since childhood, I could only cultivate through hardship on my own. Watching people less gifted than me cultivate in great sects and rise rapidly step by step—I was so envious, so jealous. But later, I stopped being jealous, because all those people died. How laughable. They still treated me as a companion, never even knowing how they died."
Flying Fish suddenly spoke. "You madman, if you were so envious, why didn't you join one of those major sects?" With the talent Chu Hong had displayed, he could truly be called one in ten thousand. It was not as though no sect would accept him.
"Join a sect? Why should I join one?