Standing still, Wang Zhenhai's lips trembled, his facial muscles twitching uncontrollably.
"Impossible, how could the master favor me?"
"It was the master who expelled me from the Yuming Sword Sect all those years ago..."
His gaze landed on Han Muye, and he pondered for a long while before finally nodding slightly.
"Master, rest assured, Wang Zhenhai will certainly go all out to expand the Yuming Sword Sect's legacy and make it flourish."
As his words ended, the space around him began to transform.
Han Muye stood in place, his eyes fixed on the rising fog ahead.
Within the fog, shadows danced about.
Each shadow represented a cultivation inheritance.
Wang Zhenhai, leading the Yuming Sword Sect disciples, fought everywhere, seizing all sorts of ancient books from around them.
Sects from all quarters seethed with silent rage.
Han Muye walked slowly, wandering through this illusion.
