Zhao Ming knelt on one knee, Thunder Abyss planted beside him to support his body. The backlash from his shattered domain sent his blood and qi surging, but he forced himself to stay upright.
He raised his head, ready to face Lin Jin's final strike.
Yet what he saw was not Lin Jin's sharp blade light, but a pair of scarlet eyes.
The pattern of the Mangekyō Sharingan slowly rotated in those pupils, bewitching and cold.
Tsukuyomi.
An irresistible force instantly dragged Zhao Ming's consciousness into darkness.
When he opened his eyes again, he found himself standing before the gates of the Zhao Clan Manor, but it was not the manor he remembered.
The gates before him had toppled, the name plaque lay shattered, and weeds overran the once-grand courtyard. The ancestral hall's doors hung crookedly half-open, and the ancestral tablets enshrined there for centuries lay scattered across the floor.
"Father!" He rushed into the main hall and saw a hunched figure huddled in the Grand Preceptor's Chair.
Zhao Wuji turned around. His once-imposing, resolute face was covered in wrinkles, his eyes were cloudy and lifeless, and most of his hair had turned white.
His lips trembled as though he wanted to say something to Zhao Ming, but all he let out was a long sigh.
Then the scene abruptly changed.
He stood at a gathering of the Capital City's aristocratic clans, surrounded by direct-line descendants of the Su, Tuoba, Wang, and other major clans.
No one saw him. They walked past him, discussing the Earth Ranking and which clan had produced another genius. Occasionally, someone mentioned his name, their tone laced with mockery.
"Zhao Ming? I heard he offended someone and had his bloodline power crippled. The Zhao Clan is finished too. The other three clans swallowed up all