The silence over Galactic Wall Street lasted for only three heartbeats.
Then, a thunderous surge of movement rocked the plaza.
Patriarch Iron-Sword threw aside his dignity and sprinted toward the stage stairs. Behind him, Blood-Blade Patriarch, Elder Qing, and dozens of ferocious Dao-Lords tumbled over each other like children chasing a spilled basket of sweet plums.
“Coach Qin! Save us!” Patriarch Iron-Sword wailed, skidding on his knees right at the base of the podium. He wrapped his thick, calloused arms around Qin Haoran’s polished Italian leather loafers. “Coach Qin, we know your legendary story! You were once an arrogant, insufferable young master back in Jiangnan with a miserable score of sixty-two! If a man like you could reach eighty-one, there is hope for humanity!”
Qin Haoran’s smile twitched slightly at the words “arrogant, insufferable young master,” but his immense pride quickly overwhelmed any annoyance.
He rested his hand gently on Patriarch Iron-Sword’s greying head, adopting the serene posture of an ancient saint dispensing grace to a wayward disciple.
“Calm yourself, my wayward son,” Qin Haoran said smoothly, letting his golden spotlight shine directly into Iron-Sword’s tearful eyes. “Yes, I once walked in the dark valleys of snobbery. I once scoffed at honest laborers. But through the glorious, illuminating teachings of Chairman Lin, I threw off my sins. I scooped trash from rivers. I rescued stranded kittens. And now, behold my radiant halo!”
