Fudō Hino, the former [Mountain Hashira], had died at the hands of an Upper Rank skilled in poison.
Xia Xi did want to find out which Upper Rank had done it.
It was not that he wanted to avenge him.
They had never known each other, so there was naturally no question of taking revenge on his behalf.
He merely wanted to settle a matter weighing on Matsuyama Daimon's mind.
That middle-aged man, usually so composed and unruffled, always lowered his voice a few notches whenever he mentioned his dead disciple.
Lu Gong's Secret Manual, which Chang Gexing had compiled using knowledge from his previous life, was extremely misleading. Even if Lu Ban were alive, he probably would not have been able to make sense of it, let alone these people at court. At most, they would probably have found themselves lost in a fog, unable to say where the path lay.
A red candle burned quietly. Though it lacked the light and warmth of a bonfire, its faint, gentle glow against the scarlet gauze curtains lent the scene an air of boundless intimacy.
The wind suddenly rose. The vortex guided by the sword shape was spreading, and heaven and earth themselves seemed to be drawn into motion, revolving around its center as the stars shifted.
Ping Lan's temperament resembled the blue clothes she wore, carrying a chill that kept others at arm's length, yet only further stirred men's desire to learn more about her.
Meanwhile, the people on the Lingxiao Continent had gone wild as well. Their frenzy was entirely because this Saint King had already fallen, and even the remnants left after his death were priceless treasures to ordinary martial artists, capable of playing a crucial role in their future cultivation.
"H-Hou... Brother Xiong, what do we do