In the room, accompanied by a faint metallic hum, a Chongying katana was sheathed. Its owner was a young man of about twenty, wearing a black moisture-wicking high-neck base layer, with a hooded tactical jacket over it, unzipped to the chest.
"As expected of the heir of the Wuming School; your swordsmanship progresses as swiftly as your evolution."
A steady voice came from the inner room, where a middle-aged Chongying man with a small mustache knelt by the tea table, leisurely sipping tea.
The young man called Qianye didn't care for the praise, his gaze fiery as he looked outside the window, "Hopefully, this time there will be true masters from Donghuang."
The mustachioed man sneered, "We've swept through a three-hundred-kilometer radius, countless small and large forces, and haven't seen a single true master. It seems Donghuang has fallen behind the times; the future belongs to us Chongying people, they no longer deserve this fertile land!"
