On that rainy night, Xu Ziqing, overwhelmed by emotional turmoil, hated that storyteller immensely.
"Damn old man!" The usually courteous young man fumed in his heart.
The person gave him hope and then despair. At the foot of Wumeng Mountain, carrying a vendetta as deep as the sea, he seemed to have lost his mind.
Hope is a slow-acting poison. At the moment when it completely shatters, it can have a lethal effect.
Fortunately, his senior brother appeared like a savior and pulled him back.
Never did Xiaoxu expect that the junior martial uncle he was to meet today would be him!
Until this moment, he had loathed this person immensely!
So much so that just now, a hint of anger flickered in his eyes during the brief eye contact.
But Xu Ziqing was not a fool.
He quickly suppressed his inner emotions.
Moreover, the person turned out to be someone highly ranked in the Daoist Sect, making it seem all the more peculiar.
