At that moment, the forces she commanded were no more than a candle flickering in the wind, ready to be extinguished by a gust; burning too brightly would only make her disappear prematurely.
Yang Ming held the edge of the sink, gazing at himself in the mirror.
This was the face of Hanton.
But he seemed to see, standing silently behind him, a ghost named Yang Ming.
"Politics is the art of compromise."
"The cultivation from the Sherman family can grant you everything you desire in the shortest time."
"They understand Faya's game, and the Empire has taken hold of your lifeline."
Yang Ming squinted his eyes.
The true ruling class of the Empire had extended their large hand toward him, seeking to tame him, confine him, turn him into a loyal dog of the royal family... What else could he do? Simply fly out of their grasp?
Hmm? Fly?
Yang Ming suddenly paused, turning his head to look at the small window in the bathroom.
