Zheng Ming nodded and said, "A weapon is best when forged by oneself."
Jin Jian clicked his tongue and thought, If you want an Inscription Sword, just tell me directly. I can refine it for you; why bother doing it yourself?
It wasn't that Jin Jian was reluctant to part with the materials, but he feared that Zheng Ming's repeated failures in artifact refining would eventually cause him to vent his anger on the Tianluo Sect.
The shattered Wanxiang Peak, now reduced to dust, stood as a testament. Now, Jiang Yuan, with the disciples of the Wanxiang lineage, was struggling to survive on a small and spiritually barren peak that was not even part of the Wanxiang Hundred Peaks.
Though it wasn't miserable, there was still the feeling of a phoenix that had fallen and was no better than a chicken.