After Qian Daoliu and the others returned to Spirit City, Yang Wudi and his party were settled in a secluded courtyard.
That evening, Qian Daoliu came in person.
He dismissed the attendants from the courtyard and spoke with Yang Wudi alone for a long time.
"I know this poison is difficult to cure," Qian Daoliu said, getting straight to the point.
"That child cannot hold on much longer."
"If you can develop an antidote, I can promise you anything."
Coming from an Ultimate Douluo, the word "anything" carried enormous weight.
Anyone else in Yang Wudi's place would have named a few conditions on the spot.
He could have asked for his clansmen to be allowed out of the city, for the Breaking Clan's holdings to be returned, or simply for a written guarantee of their lives.
But Yang Wudi only lowered his eyes and said nothing.
After days of effort, he knew it was all but impossible to cure this poison on his own.
The black poison wandered unpredictably once inside the body. He had tried eighty remedies, if not a hundred, each made with rare medicinal ingredients aged for years. Yet every dose was "eaten" clean the moment it entered the body.
For the first time, he could not even grasp the poison's nature.
He did not care about his own life.
But the dozens of Yang family descendants in the courtyard were different. They had suffered this calamity because they had followed him. Whether they could leave Spirit City in one piece depended entirely on what he, their clan leader, did next.
So however tempting the promise was, he dared not accept it lightly.
If he accepted and failed, the whole courtyard would suffer once Qian Daoliu's patience ran out.
Yang Wudi held no resentment toward the Seven