The Monk, treading on the snow, whispered to Feng Bei.
Feng Bei smiled faintly and nodded. "Alright."
Just then, Zheng Haoran, who had been as motionless as a mirage, suddenly spoke.
Zheng Xiu stopped in his tracks and turned around in surprise.
"I have a son."
CLANG!
Zheng Haoran flicked his longspear, plunging it into the snow. It sank halfway in as easily as if it were tofu.
He removed his face guard. Behind the tiger-shaped piece of armor, Zheng Haoran's face was shrouded in mist. Zheng Xiu squinted. The area swirled with a motley of colors. He couldn't make out the man's features, let alone his face.
"That silly boy of mine has a single name: Xiu! The 'Xiu' that means 'to cultivate'! I've been on campaign for years, and the stench of death hangs heavy on me, so I chose that name to give him a touch of scholarly grace! The boy's got my spirit and his mother's looks. He's bound to grow up both powerful and handsome. You believe me?"
"Don't believe me? Wanna bet?"
