As Xiao Yan's bold declaration rang across the grassy slope, stirring in his heart a tragic, heroic fervor of "My fate is mine to command, not Heaven's," a familiar figure appeared in his mind without warning.
It was Xiao Yi, still wearing that same punchable look, his chin propped on one hand while the other spun the copper coin Xiao Yan had discarded around his fingertips. An infuriating, all-knowing smile hung on his lips.
The phantom curled his lip, and a languid yet utterly clear voice rang out deep inside Xiao Yan's mind.
"Spare me the high-minded talk. Fate, the Emperor's Throne... looks to me like nothing more than a gambler's itch. You get carried away and want to go all in: win, and it's fine rides and fine wine; lose, and it's back to tilling the fields. Tsk, tsk. Young people run too hot. Goes straight to their heads."
This sudden mental assault struck precisely at the guilty uncertainty buried deep in Xiao Yan's heart. He jolted, grabbed the Flame Mantra scroll, and flailed it wildly at the air, as though he could beat that hateful illusion out of his head.
"Get lost, get lost, get lost! You haunting bastard!"
Watching Xiao Yan's ridiculous battle of wits and courage against thin air, Yao Lao froze for a moment, then seemed to understand. A glimmer of amusement flashed in his eyes.
"Very well. Since you've made up your mind, I won't interfere any further. The path of cultivation has always been full of choices. Whether this brings fortune or disaster, you'll have to bear it yourself in the end."
Then he changed tack, sighed with feigned regret, and took out the Wind Scroll Technique scroll again.
"Ah, what a shame to leave this Black Tier High Grade cultivation method, the