The atmosphere in the Dining Hall was unusually tense. The disciple Xu Xiu had left behind sat as if on a bed of needles, his body trembling slightly. Even his breathing seemed cautious.
His head was almost buried in his chest, and he dared not meet Ming Hao and the others' eyes. Inwardly, he cursed Xu Xiu and the others for abandoning all loyalty and leaving him here alone.
Yet Ming Hao and the others did not make things difficult for him as he had expected. Instead, they were perfectly amicable.
Ming Hao calmly drew a sheet of paper from inside his robe, laid it gently on the table, and said to Fatty Zhang and the others:
"Everyone, write down the weapons you want."
Fatty Zhang, Lin Yong, and the others exchanged glances. Without much hesitation, they picked up their pens and quickly wrote down the weapons they had long coveted.
After all, opportunities like this did not come along whenever one wanted them. Naturally, they would not pass up a chance to get something for free.
Before long, everyone had finished writing.
Ming Hao gathered up the completed list and handed it to the disciple.
At the sight of this, the disciple's face instantly turned deathly pale, and his hands trembled beyond his control.
He accepted the list with shaking hands, terrified that the slightest mistake would earn him a scolding from Ming Hao and the others.
When the disciple turned to leave, his steps were frantic, as though something terrifying were chasing him.
He practically jogged all the way out of the Dining Hall, as if Ming Hao and the others were demons whose very names struck terror into people's hearts!
Watching the disciple's retreating figure, Ming Hao could not help sighing with regret:
"Why do