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Three days later.
Portraits fluttered out like snow, scattering far and wide. Every image showed the same person, a woman gentle and composed.
Anyone who could provide her identity would be handsomely paid. Those with direct, verifiable information would be named patrons of the Lotus Cult.
The portraits were first sent to the Lotus Cult’s disciples and to elders stationed elsewhere for them to see if they recognised her. When one such portrait reached a fifth rank elder just back from the north, the man’s body gave a little shudder.
His face was a ruin, his once-handsome features long since destroyed. All that remained was a grim, scarred mask. Time had pooled in his eyes. He stared at the portrait.
This was Fang Jianlong. After untold hardship, he’d finally earned the right to undergo the Red Lotus Cult’s marrow transplant; in searing agony, he reforged his shadow bones, then clenched his teeth and trained like a madman until he broke through to fifth rank.
Later, in the Ocean Province campaign to annihilate the Sacred Fire Palace, Fang Jianlong chased Zhu Nuyang down and personally...
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