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Chapter 352: Never Underestimate the Young Man's Poverty!
Chapter 352: Never Underestimate the Young Man’s Poverty!
“Fate’s tides shift every thirty years. Never underestimate the young man’s poverty!”
In the broad hall of Flame City’s Yan Clan, an eight-year-old boy stood tall, his voice ringing like iron. Defiance blazed in his eyes, as if a lion roared behind them.
But all he received in return was disdainful laughter.
No matter their resentment, the Yan Clan dared not voice complaints. Their visitor’s reputation loomed too large—the sole overlord of the Northern Borderlands.
The Divine Martial Gate.
“Stop spouting nonsense,” the man sneered. “Yan Xiao, your parents are dead. My young lady will soon join the Divine Martial Gate, securing a future far beyond yours. Would you dare shackle her?”
“She’s grateful for the resources you provided, but you no longer walk the same path. Part ways now, and may you rest in peace. Break off the engagement!”
The words struck like thunder. The boy turned sharply to the young lady beside the speaker. Her once-adorable face now stared coldly, her gaze slicing through memories of their days as the golden boy and jade girl everyone once admired.
Once, they’d been equals. Now, she’d soared to the heavens while he remained earthbound—a orphaned boy with mere talent to cling to, an ant staring up at a star.
The girl turned away first.
“Enough,” the middle-aged man barked. “Sign it now.”
He tossed a contract onto the table. The boy wanted to hurl it back, but swallowed his anguish instead. His trembling hands seized the paper.
Strength determines fate.
“I’ll repay today’s humiliation a thousandfold,” he vowed silently, signing his name with tears brimming.
Bang!
Suddenly, the manor doors exploded open. A figure strode in—his presence calm, his aura like an ordinary mortal.
“Who dares—?!”
Roars erupted until the man recognized the intruder. The middle-aged man’s face drained of color.
Impossible! His divine consciousness had failed to detect this person earlier—a cultivator at Refining Qi Perfection!
“Lower cultivator, kneel!” the man shouted, dropping to one knee.
But the newcomer ignored him.
With a flick of his fingers, he traced a divination, his gaze settling on the tearful boy. Softness warmed his eyes.
“Master Lu, we meet again,” he smiled.
The boy froze. “You are…?”
“Ye Guangji.”
With that, he drew a token from his robes. “Our fates intertwined in past lives. Now, I’ve come to guide you.”
He pressed the token into the boy’s hand. “From this day forth, you are my sole disciple. Come—return with me to Jiangnan, and lead the righteous path as the Sword Pavilion’s true inheritor.”
Silence.
Then chaos erupted.
“The Jiangnan Sword Pavilion!?”
“This trash actually deserves it!?”
“A Foundation Building True Man reincarnated!?”
The middle-aged man gaped. Recognition dawned: the boy’s lips still quivered from his earlier humiliation.
One moment, he’d been stranded east of the river.
The next, he’d crossed to the west.
Spit!
Fate’s twists struck too fast. Tears still wet his cheeks as laughter burst forth uncontrollably.
As though a chain snapped—
Boom!
A luminous fortune erupted from his frail body, invisible to all but the True Man, who nodded in approval.
“Master Lu, your methods truly astound.”
In the shadows, Lv Yang observed through his Golden String Puppet.
“The Fallen Genius fate pattern has reached completion,” he mused. “Eight years of cultivated hardship—humiliation, poverty, deprivation—all to shatter this moment. Now, fortune ascends, ripe for the Fortune-Drawing Fate-Sign. Even the Great Auspice itself will tremble before his luck!”
His pride swelled.
This fate pattern demanded sacrifice. The puppet’s suffering ensured his own glory. After all, what’s a clone’s pain to me? Let him bear it—I’ll reap the reward!
Yet he knew the truth: Dangmo True Man suspected this fortune was no reincarnation boon, but a premeditated trap.
Still, the Sword Pavilion’s ancestral hall loomed ahead.
The towering mountain peak pierced the heavens, a divine blade plunging into the sky. The Sword Pavilion’s grandeur spoke louder than words.
Inside the Hall of Reception, a narrow corridor mirrored a shrine. Before an altar bearing a sword and incense burner, Dangmo True Man handed three joss sticks to the boy.
“Burn these before the Ancestral Master,” he intoned. “From this moment, you are Jiangnan Sword Pavilion’s true inheritor.”
(End of Chapter)
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