Everyone was drawn to Wu Tian's disdainful laughter. On the high platform, Murong Ziqi ceased his sword dance.
"What do you mean by that?" Murong Guangfu could never quite look favorably upon his nephew, Wu Tian.
Too arrogant. A person like that, even if they find success, will only enjoy it for a moment. It won't last. Only his son, Murong Ziqi, whose arrogance is backed by genuine talent, can be timeless.
"What I mean is," Wu Tian's laughter subsided as he spoke calmly, "even if your son cultivates for another hundred years, he couldn't defeat a single one of my fingers."
This statement caused the members of the Murong Family to shake their heads.
This time, even Murong Dawei did the same. He thought he knew all of Wu Tian's secrets. As the Prime Minister's heir, Wu Tian's political power would one day certainly surpass Murong Ziqi's. But his martial prowess? How could it possibly compare to Murong Ziqi's?
