The Sacred Mountain was not entirely silent. Sun Hengchuan, beaming from ear to ear, was digging into his own pockets to hand out red envelopes to the members of the Blood God Cult, proclaiming, “My disciple is getting married! Let’s all celebrate!”0

And so, the mountain erupted in festivity.0

No one dared to dispute Instructor Sun’s claim that Zhao Changhe was his disciple, not even Zhao Changhe himself. In investment terms, his stocks had gone straight up to the moon. The only reason his success had not turned into ambition was that Sun Hengchuan simply had none. He had spent the last few years in semi-retirement, only occasionally instructing new cult members in saber arts. It was only this northern campaign against the barbarians that had prompted him to pick up his blade once more. Most likely, after this battle, he would return to a life of peaceful retirement.0

After all, cultivating the Vicious Blood Art was a process of constant suffering, and not everyone could conquer vicious blood. Sun Hengchuan was no exception. He had long since wanted to give it up. He was not alone in this. There were many within the Blood God Cult who had similar thoughts. To sheathe their swords and retreat into the jianghu, leaving war behind, seemed like the best path for most of them. And with Zhao Changhe at the helm, they knew they would never be left wanting.0

Even Xue Canghai had been unusually quiet ever since Lie had spoken those words to him. Perhaps he, too, was contemplating this choice.0

There was only one Zhao Changhe. Not everyone could or needed to follow his path.0

Xue Canghai said nothing, simply continuing to oversee the warriors of the Divine Temple who had surrendered as they pitched tents and constructed an encampment. The captives, forced into hard labor, kept their heads down and did not dare to utter a word. Occasionally, some of them stole glances...0