Xie Tianhua finally understood what it meant to be in the presence of a truly formidable figure. When he himself was in the presence of the two masters, he hadn't dared to breathe too loudly, yet Wang Meng could speak with such confidence and ease. This wasn't some mentality of expecting repayment for a favor, but true, unadulterated composure.
'How could a disciple from the Holy Hall of a backward Small Thousand Realm, a mere Saint Cultivator, manage to do that?'
For reasons he couldn't explain, a sense of heartfelt admiration rose in Xie Tianhua's heart.
Wang Meng didn't answer. After his Heart Spirit—or more accurately, his latent Divine Sense—had finished assessing Zhang Bai's physical condition, he slowly sat back down in his seat.
"Senior, your condition is extremely poor. To put it bluntly, you won't last even two more years."
"Right after that incident, Mo Chen somehow survived."
"Are you saying Mo Chen's miraculous survival is related to Wang Meng?"
