Within the quiet room,
after saying these words, Fang Heng lowered his arms, taking a step back with a hint of wariness.
Since their meeting, every time he thought of saying something to make the other party stay, his own arms would suffer, starting from the right arm to both arms...
Yet he still stared intently at the ink-robed youth seated at the table.
The standards for Master to take on disciples placed talent after the desire to kill; every brother and sister, including himself, were among the most ferocious demon slayers, their achievements far surpassing their peers.
This was because Qingzhou was not as calm as it appeared on the surface.
It was like a building made of sand; although it seemed stable, a mere touch could cause it to instantly collapse.
Qingzhou of today did not need a genius with exceptional talent, devoted to cultivation, swiftly advancing through levels only to drift away like an immortal untainted by the dust of the world.
