The waiting room was quiet. Wu Jian, Yu Qiang, and Hou Jingshu had been given a wide berth after their confrontation with Húndàn Wang. The young man in question was sulking in a corner. Hou Gun was trying to reassure the swordsman, though he would occasionally throw glares at Wu Jian. Everyone else was quietly discussing what had just happened. Wu Jian could hear them clear as day.
“What do you think that masked guy meant?”
“Isn’t it obvious? That dude has obviously experienced a lot of life and death battles. I bet you he was born in the flames of war. He’s saying that his experience is more important than Húndàn Wang’s cultivation.”
“Ouch. He’s not giving Húndàn Wang or the Saintly Sword Sect any face, is he?”
“More like he’s slapping them in the face. I hope those two fight during the tournament. That would be a sight to see.”
“You really know how to rile people up,” Yu Qiang said.