The sect gate no longer mattered.
Under such immense, divine might, things like wealth and power became as fragile as paper.
Cangwu Zi's Divine Soul had already been wounded by Zhao Rui. How could a tear in the Divine Soul possibly heal in just over a year?
Because of his injured Divine Soul, he had long harbored a deep-seated resentment for Zhao Rui. He had originally thought that dealing with these juniors from his homeland in the Central Plains would be a simple matter.
When the time came, he could finally vent the hatred in his heart.
He never would have imagined that when they actually fought, he, a magnificent Dharma Grandmaster, would be unable to defeat a local boy.
The flames of this resentful fury flared violently, and an obsession took root in the depths of his mind.
If not for this, he wouldn't have taken his anger out on the weak disciples of the Qingcheng Sword Sect, or even the innocent courtyard walls and buildings.
