Upon hearing his name, Zhang Xin began to nod his head, like a chicken pecking at grain. He did not dare to look up.
The two elders exchanged glances. Then one of them smiled—his smile appeared kind, like that of an angel. He extended his hand.
"Little one, you have convinced me. Follow us."
"Y-yes?!"
Zhang Xin was stunned. It worked? He immediately stood up and began to follow the elders.
Watching his fellow disciples being killed, he felt relieved.
"At least I survived," thought Zhang Xin, feeling no sympathy.
In reality, as disciples of the same sect, they never considered each other part of the same whole. There was no such nonsense as 'we are one family, blah blah blah.'
Eternal opposition, eternal struggle, killings, and malice. This was the source of sustenance for devilish cultivators, a form of spiritual food.
