Although one’s cultivation depended on their character and choices, they were ultimately guided on the basics by a master. For all, their motivation to master martial arts was to become capable, to fulfill their own aspirations; even though others couldn’t tell, there was an undeniable, unshakable craftsmanship to their martial arts, but this person was different.

This person’s martial abilities were polished by decades of life-or-death instances in the tempests of bloody massacres--he had no mantras, no fixed set of moves, but only a choice to either live, or die, time after time.

This was very likely the most frightening sort of martial arts in the world.

The Scorpion opened his mouth slightly. There was an unexpected tremor to his voice; in what could have been fear or excitement, his fingers tightened, hurting the beautiful youth in his grip. The youth’s features scrunched a little in an expression of pain, but he did not dare to struggle. He heard the Scorpion murmur, “If they now claim that he is not the Master of the Ghost Valley, I won’t believe it with my life.”

Abruptly, he let go of the youth he was leading in hand, patted the back of his head, and said, “Go meet that kid with unbelievable luck. Go play with him for a bit, us adults will have a chat.”

The youth flitted out on command. Surprisingly, his martial abilities were rather strong.

At the same time, the Scorpion put his fingers in his mouth and whistled. Upon the command, all surviving Poisonous Scorpions leapt out of the battle area, and formed tidy ranks by his side.

The Scorpion walked out of the dark to stand before Wen Kexing, and saluted him with palm over fist. “Gentlemen, we meet again.”

Wen Kexing loosened his grip, and the corpse of a Poisonous Scorpion hit the ground. He cast an eye over the Scorpion, killing intent teeming as he asked in extreme annoyance, “Have you come seeking death?”

The beautiful youth that the Scorpion brought along had already swept towards Zhang Chengling. Apathetic, the Scorpion did not spare him another glance, but it was in fact Zhou Zishu, who had not budged an inch off to one side, who raised his head to look at the two youths engaged in duel. He seemed to shift a little, then hesitated, and ultimately did not interfere--that beautiful youth’s attacks were vicious, and were forcing Zhang Chengling to scramble in panic and evade at once.

However, Zhou Zishu could tell that if the martial abilities of these two were to be called bad, they were not too atrocious. He already knew that Zhang Chengling was the sort of person who would make progress upon being pushed to the brink of despair; anyway, with so many people around, he was not afraid that there would be any mishaps with the little tyke, and let them be.