"Report... Superintendent, urgent news from the Bright Cult!"
At Hangzhou Harbor, a black-clad Western Factory agent hurried forward with a sealed letter in his hands, bowing as he presented it with both hands to Wei Heng, who sat squarely on a raised platform in a python robe and black cloak.
Wei Heng took the letter, casually dismissed his subordinate, and opened it, scanning ten lines at a glance... It recounted how Yang Tiansheng had publicly withstood three strikes from Yang Potian, Cult Master of the Bright Cult, assumed office as one of its Heavenly Kings, and become the foremost candidate to succeed as Cult Master.
After reading it once, Wei Heng could not help going back for a second read, this time studying every word.
Only after a long while did he softly release a stale breath and murmur, overcome with emotion, "That lad has really come into his own, too..."
He remembered the night at Road Pavilion when he had first met Yang Erlang and Yang Tiansheng.
Back then, he had merely thought those two youngsters were newborn calves unafraid of tigers, daring to dig atop an Imperial Envoy's head with their paltry Qi Sea Realm cultivation.
Three and a half years had passed in a blink. Of the two young men he had once beaten into scurrying away with their hands over their heads, one had become the unrivaled number one beneath heaven, while the other had become the next Cult Master of the century-old Bright Cult.
Only now, looking back, did he suddenly realize... perhaps this was what truly made someone strong!
The weak swung their blades at those weaker than themselves.
The strong swung their blades at those stronger than themselves.
Strength could be great or small.
But conviction should know no such distinction.
Could someone