Although they were military generals and not much versed in poetry, they could at least discern the good from the bad and grasp the meaning. At this moment, they all watched the youth in shock.
The iron-blooded resolve, ringing pride, and domineering aura in that poem—coupled with memories of the young man defeating the Great Elder of Dragon Gate alone and fighting against the ruler of the Great Void Realm—made their eyes shine with admiration. They looked at him with complex gazes, their faces filled with fondness yet frustration, wishing he bore the Xia surname.
Why had no such prodigy been born among the sons of the Xia Family?
Xia Linglong's eyes also grew complex from the initial astonishment. The old master had recited lines in the poem she particularly remembered, which felt like a reflection of her state of mind on the demon-slaying battlefield.
Sleeping in the open, eating with the wind, she vowed never to back down,
