"Master, Martial Uncle, Martial Seniors, Martial Ancestors... my fellow disciples, today I, Jing Wuming, have avenged you! May your spirits in heaven find peace..."
In the silent atmosphere, Jing Wuming approached the corpse of the Fire Scorpion, inserted his sword into the ground while looking at the dismembered head, and spoke in a deep voice.
No one could understand the complex feelings he had at this moment—the persistence, hatred, resentment buried in his heart—unleashed in one move, leaving only an endless hollow and confusion.
With steady footsteps, Jiang Feng approached and patted his shoulder.
Jing Wuming contemplated for a long time before taking out a piece of burlap from his pocket, squatting down to pick up Su Saosao's head, wrapping it in the burlap, and speaking with his back to Jiang Feng, "I'm going back to the sect to offer my respects to Master. When I return, I'll follow your plan!"
"Sounds good."
Jiang Feng smiled.
