Zhu Zijun knew why he was crying, and he alone understood the reason.
He wept for himself, for all the times Wufu had criticized him in the past, highlighting his mistakes, his lack of professionalism.
Now, confronted with the completely transformed Chicken Blood Stone before him, which had its essence fully carved out to present its most perfect form for all to see, he felt inferior.
He was not her equal.
It was in vain that he once claimed to be a disciple of the Ghost Hand Master; he had been in the industry for at least twenty years, yet his skills were not even comparable to those of a young girl who had not yet reached the age of marriage.
It was not that Zhu Zijun felt disgraced, but rather that he found himself speechless; all his past thoughts and ideas were wrong, all mistaken.
He was complacent, with a narrow view of the world, stubborn in his own beliefs. He never reflected on situations but rather shifted the blame, which led to his utter defeat.
