But soon.
Yan Shouzheng's deep and grave voice resounded again.
It shattered the tumultuous waves in Fang Qingyu's heart and interrupted the nearly suffocating atmosphere in the study.
"In any case."
The old man's gaze swept over the five young and shocked faces in front of him, carrying an undeniable weight.
"You all still have a little time left now."
His voice was firm and decisive, like a final ultimatum.
"Once the time comes, you all should head to the Arctic."
"So..." Yan Shouzheng's gaze was sharp as a knife, carrying the sternness and advice of an elder, "Make good use of this time! Improve yourselves! Solidify your foundations! Digest the gains from this Ghost Festival! Do not waste a single second!"
"Tier Two..." His voice suddenly rose, carrying an almost ruthless clarity, "Over there, it counts for nothing among the strong."
"Arctic Front..."
Yan Shouzheng's voice dropped down.
