Zheng Xiu was now getting a firsthand taste of what it meant to love watching a good train wreck.
He had infiltrated the event under the identity of "Xiao Buping," just waiting for Xie Luohe to make his move. Idle and bored, he sipped on premium tea that was worth its weight in gold, eagerly anticipating some excitement in the Jianghu.
Zheng Xiu had even deliberately positioned himself and Xiaotao within "Xie Luohe's firing range"—perfectly safe.
The ones raising objections were a few burly, bearded men. Dressed in animal-skin coats and straw sandals, they had the look of rustic mountain folk.
The so-called Martial World was no tranquil lake.
To Zheng Xiu, the Martial World felt more like a giant dyeing vat, filled with all sorts of characters, both righteous and evil, who did as they pleased and set their own rules. In the end, it was an unruly circle, impossible to restrain.
