In a suburban teahouse.
"Grandpa, according to you, wouldn't Shi Xiaole be the most talented genius of the past thousand years?"
A little girl asks a white-haired old man holding an erhu in his hands, her eyes shimmering brightly.
Most of the people in the teahouse are passing businessmen who are not familiar with the affairs of the Martial World, taking the old man's words as merely enchanting stories.
Only the little girl shows great interest, as if she can't wait to meet the protagonist of the story.
The white-haired man is blind. He replies, "The Flying Horse Dynasty is vast, who dares to claim the top spot, and who can claim it? But in the Great Cold State, Shi Xiaole is undoubtedly the first."
Thud.
Someone on a nearby seat gently puts down their teacup.
He is a young man dressed in red, plain-looking. His amber eyes initially seem ordinary, but once you stare for a while, they feel like two miniature suns, blindingly bright.
"The sixth level?"
