Zhang Fusheng was well aware that he wasn't particularly skilled at scheming and intrigue.
He preferred to kill his enemies with a single punch.
As for the so-called struggle—having seized Liao Xianji's enlightenment, he was indeed not what he used to be, but could he compare with the top Martial Arts Masters in their thirties?
That was still far off.
So.
He chose to eliminate those geniuses.
Eliminate those apprentices of the Master Uncle whom he had never met.
The rain fell harder.
In the rain curtain.
"Who are you all?"
Lu Zheng wiped the sweat from his forehead, staring at the thirty or so figures in black robes before him,
These people were shrouded in black robes from head to toe, their faces and figures obscured.
The black-robed figures remained silent, encircling silently as the long street became desolate and cold without anyone noticing.
A raindrop hit Lu Zheng's eye.
He instinctively squinted.
In an instant.
