Gu Tong glanced sideways. "What?"
Qu Chengong grasped the sword hilt at his waist and said softly, "That man is a Thunder Cultivator from Welcome Ying Isle. Anyone who has cultivated li thunder to such heights must belong to its Direct Lineage."
He paused, his gaze sweeping over Quan Yong before settling on Gu Tong's face. "Knowing that, are we truly still going to kill him?"
At first, Gu Tong thought little of his words. But as he followed their implications, a chill seemed to rise from the soles of his feet.
His lips moved, but no sound emerged. In an instant, cold sweat soaked the back of his Daoist robe, plastering it against his spine.
"We've been hooked."
Welcome Ying Isle's Direct Lineage. Ordinarily, those words were merely a topic of conversation. But killing someone of that standing would not simply mean the death of a disciple—it would mean punching a hole through the heavens.
Welcome Ying Isle had never been inclined to reason with others. It spoke only of good and evil, and settled matters with fists.
Yet by Welcome Ying Isle's judgment, not one of those present was a good man.
That left only fists.
When that time came, never mind the Southern Return or their two centuries of planning—even their sect strongholds might be torn out by the roots, leaving not a blade of grass behind.
And yet, faced with something so consequential, they had charged in intent on killing without giving it a single thought.
Even ordinary mortals knew better than to provoke someone with powerful backing, yet it had never occurred to them.
How unwise. How utterly foolish.
Recalling Quan Yong's many peculiarities, he could not help saying, "You knew all along."
Quan Yong's gaze remained calm. He nodded without the slightest evasion. "At