The person behind the beaded curtain seemed not to have expected Yang Qing, given his temperament, to speak so bluntly. For a moment, he said nothing more.
Yang Qing and the others were not particularly anxious about their predicament now, either. They had already pieced together some idea of what was going on.
And so, separated by a heavy beaded curtain, both sides fell silent.
No one knew how much time passed before a low, hoarse voice rang out again in that small space.
"A few storms have certainly made you bolder than before. Unfortunately..."
The person behind the beaded curtain gave a faint sigh. "You still don't know what's good for you."
Yang Qing's hands, which had been hanging at his sides, slowly clenched into fists.
Although the person behind the curtain had only spoken a few sentences so far, Yang Qing had already figured out a great many things.
Naturally, after a brief moment of surprise, Bu Er and the others beside him also fully understood who the man behind the curtain was.
This person, whose true face they had yet to glimpse, was the one who, over the past year or two—no, perhaps even earlier, starting when he had schemed to send them into Spirit Mountain for the first time—had drawn their fates, step by step, into ever deeper entanglements with Eastern Splendor and the Twelve Holy Envoys.
Like a phantom in the dark of night, this man had toyed with their fates as though they were puppets in the palm of his hand.
As though sensing the anger surging ceaselessly within them, the hoarse voice let out a trace of laughter. "You want to decide your own path forward? The time has not yet come."
The moment his words fell, Yang Qing felt Jiangli, who had