Stretching lazily, Wang Shaoyang got up and walked into his study.
Spreading the paper, grinding the ink, lifting the pen.
With a smooth flow, he wrote a grand and domineering word.
Death!
...
This world has a time gap.
In Yan Country it is night, while here it is noon, the scorching sun like fire, dazzling the endless sea, a blinding sight.
A ship sped through with a dull roar.
Along the way, it stirred numerous ferocious sharks into madness because the sea surface the ship passed left behind a crimson streak, resembling a river of blood.
Too many dead bodies on the ship, the blood kept flowing.
Under the scorching sun, Ye Xuan stood, steering the ship toward the Harado Mountains with one hand, holding a cigarette with the other.
He took a deep drag of the cigarette, and before he could exhale, he picked up a bottle of liquor next to him and drank as if it were water.
Big gulps of smoke, big gulps of alcohol! Boldly, fiercely.
A hint of indifference to life and death.
