"Birds of different feathers do not flock together."
The sound echoed in his ears as the water turned cold to his touch. The wind grew stronger in its force. The remnants of the dews were like the cold temperature straying in early spring. The waves fluctuated and surged ceaselessly, not pausing for the prosperity or wane, joys or sorrows, separations or reunions of the world.
In the midst of the air above the Yeshui, the moist wind was blowing. Meng Qi, who seemed a little bit dull, suddenly gnashed his teeth and whispered:
"What do you mean that our paths are different? Bullshit!"
"I have read a great chapter of the School of Mo!"
