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Meanwhile, in another stretch of the River of Destiny, Yun Wuxiang held a fist-sized red wine gourd, rubbing and fiddling with it.
He looked at his companion. “Hei Ya, now do you understand what you did wrong?”
“I deserve to die!” said Hei Ya, slapping himself ruthlessly in the face. He’d rebuilt his body, but it was still feeble. It would take a long time for him to reach his former peak.
Yun Wuxiang looked askance at him, then laughed derisively. “It seems I’m still lacking in prestige. I’m far from my little martial uncle’s level.”
Hei Ya’s expression shifted, but just as he was about to explain, Yun Wuxiang waved for silence. “Those are the facts. I acknowledge that I am inferior to my little martial uncle in this regard. It’s only natural that you’d fear him hunting you down to settle the score.”
Hei Ya fell silent.
Prior to this, he’d really had no idea that Yun Wuxiang’s little martial uncle, the one famous for “brewing tea to kill, and brewing wine to entertain,” would have such feelings for Su Wanjun!
This “little martial...
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