"We have to remember safety first."
"Don't worry, Aunt Yi. We won't sacrifice our lives that easily."
"Right, we have to live to accomplish our goals." One of the girls with a round face, who was around 19 years old, gnashed her teeth with clenched fists.
Aunt Yi sighed. Three years had passed already, yet the seeds of hatred buried in these young children's hearts had only grown all the more stronger.
Even though the past was dead, their grief had intensified.
Let alone these brooding disciples, even she could not let go of this hatred in her heart.
Yang Xirong looked up and out of the window.
In the glow of the setting sun, pedestrians were hurrying along the streets of Wanlu Town.
Holy Water Sect's 800 disciples had been reduced to 200 after the massacre three years ago, and they fled here like stray dogs.
The critical thing was that the Holy Water Sect had lost their mainstay.
