"Father, I think that kid's skills are nothing special, why would you let someone like him attend the Seven Nations Martial Tournament? Isn't that a disgrace to our Qingxiao City?" The Young City Lord slammed the door and walked into the study, his face full of dissatisfaction: "I don't want to be on a team with such trash in the tournament."
"Yihang, you are mistaken; I have no intention of letting you participate in this tournament," the City Lord of Qingxiao City said, sitting at his desk, opening the scroll before him, seemingly perusing something.
"What?" Qing Yihang was somewhat surprised: "If not me, who will you send? Apart from my late brother Ye Lu, who else in the whole Qingxiao City is my match?"
"But you cannot die," the City Lord of Qingxiao City glanced at the furious Qing Yihang: "You are my son, the future successor of the City Lord's position, how can you die in such a place?"
